6:56PM
Waterloo Bridge/Southbank
stone cold shells
with staircases of
helter skelter;
the thames is high
with christmastide
Lancaster Place
6:58PM

I thought you became exasperated when I sat next to you
However, you greeted me with the most sweetest and delicate tone
You stared me right in the eyes and instantly recognized my dull face
I never thought of myself as a memorable person, but I was to you
We exchanged our memories of junior year and for the first time in a while, I actually felt like someone had a genuine interest in me
Although we never spoke much before this interaction, I had a feeling that I’ve known you for ages
The bus arrived at your stop and my heart sank as I watched you grab your belongings
I let out a soft “goodbye” and smiled
I’m glad that I chose the correct seat

Bouquet of unfamiliar faces
Minding own business.
Each with own story to tell
But ‘shhhh, it’s a secret’.
Excluding none takes the ride
That leads them to the next destination.
Only oneself know of
The coming journey to be told.
Sudden nudge on the back,
‘Excuse me,’
There goes one.
But no worries,
Vacant spots are to be
Filled with new,
Name less companions.
I see them come and go
As I wait
For my own story to
Unfold.

Seventy minutes or years
The bus does not stop

We ride past invisible fields
Through birch forests
I see their ghosts
In the headlights' glow
By day it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan

Our people have well-hidden scars
Seeds of pain buried deep
Underneath these invisible fields
Brother betrayed brother here
And many times before that
Since the first of us

Fairy lights dance on the horizon
Assemble to make a suburb
The bus does not stop
By night it could be Wisconsin
Or Indiana or Michigan
And so it is

Seventy years or minutes
To process these thoughts

And in that time
Seeds of pain may grow
Into a harvest of love
If we choose