It’s one in the morning.

There is no other bus in the terminal than this one.
It is filled with dozing passengers,
Half-awake bodies smelling of cheap perfume,
Watered alcohol, lime and cigarette.
You smell like mint and a hint of sugary Sprite.
You sit on the last row of the bus,
Just next to the window.
White headphones thread their way
Through your tumbleweed hair.

I wonder what are the songs
You spend your time listening to.

I look at your reflection on the glass.
I steal glances at your lovely face.
As you lean on the smooth glass window
Let the world pass you by for a while.

I wonder if you noticed me staring.
I wonder if for a fleeting moment you tried.

Perhaps you don’t.
But I certainly do.

I notice the lonesome wrinkle under your eyes.
I notice the way your lips quirk into a smile.
I notice the rumble of your laughter
I notice how bad you want to believe in ever afters.
I notice how in the ghostly streetlight, your irises change a slight hue.
I notice that your wearing a navy mascara and cerulean eyeshadow.

It’s almost my stop.
But I don’t try to stand up.

I turn to you, and you looked so vulnerable.
You’re curled up in your side, fast asleep.
And I never wanted any other thing
Than hold you in my arms for a heartbeat.
You look so vulnerable – and not pretty.
Not pretty. Beautiful.

You had your eyes closed.
You can’t see me.
But I see you.

I want to flip the hourglass.
I want to keep you right there, on the back row of the dingy bus.
I want to stop the sand from pouring down.
I want to stop the bus, from driving into town.
I want to stop the world.
I want to stop the universe.

Because mine just did.