I have been waiting for that bus that will take me rides away, from this town drenched in all the depressing shades of blue. Maybe I can reach the point where I’ll look at the rearview mirror, and no longer feel sorry for my younger self and all the hurting she did alone. Maybe I can finally disentangle myself from all forms of sadness I slept with. Maybe I can take the trip with the longest ride and make it out of here.

But I’m still stuck in the same old station, along with other runaways. And it’s getting late. It’s getting late.