So I stand in the cold, and wait for that bus to arrive. You know the one, its the one we've all been waiting for. The bench is filled up with others who are waiting as well, and Im left with no where to sit. I stand in their midst, anonymous and brimming with thoughts. None of my fellow waiters take a notice, and I look around at the sad group. People with bags and worries, people with sad drooping faces, people with sticky little children hands squeezing and tugging for the next shiny toy.
Seems we've been waitin for ages now. Cars stream by and the wind and exhaust whips at my chapped face. Meanwhile my mind races with my personal struggles, my degree that doesnt seem to want to get done, my family that doesn't seem to want to stay together, my bills, my emtpy apartment filled with ghosts of something I almost had.
Its getting late and still we're here. Times rushes at us and then departs, the sun wishes us goodbye all too quickly and before I can raise my tired eyes to bid her farewell the silent night is stealing the sky and drinking up the waning light like a whiskey shot, greedy and shaking slightly.
A small puff of vapor creates a small cloud in front of me and then vanishes into nothing. I run my hand through it and pretend it to be warm steam of my moms' chicken soup rising from a heavy bowl filled with hearty goodness of carefree memories. I blink and realize maybe it never really was carefree at all, merely a small retreat for my heart to rest in, a small patch of island amid the drudgery of the present. Maybe not so pleasant at all, merely pleasantly forgotten.
A rustle goes through the group and we all look up. A beam of light makes its way steadily toward us and we lift our eyes, excitement abounding. The children grow quieter, and the droopy faces seem to gain some lift. I stand a bit taller, the relief lifts an invisible load off my shoulders. All too soon I realize that we have made a mistake in the rush towards hope fulfilled. The bus is not ours, and it rolls slowly onward into the night. I sigh, and settle back into my corner.
I hope the bus comes soon, theres only so much I can stand.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Summer Nights
They say that you cannot lose what you never had. I breathe deep into the night as you smoke your cigarette out on the porch. Like a vigilant kitty, I sit on the swing and watch you out of the corner of my eye. The lights from the street swim their way through the cracks in the fence and splash onto you. You look like a 3rd grade arts and crafts project with different shapes and colors in splotches all over your body. You meet my gaze, then turn away.
They say if you love something let it go. The smoke is thick around us, and the only sounds are your rushing breaths and the creak of the swing. The occasional breeze picks my thoughts like a guitar. The tune goes unnoticed as it drifts above us, and sets the air ahumming. It's been so long since I've shared myself out loud with you. As the last embers of your cigarette set on your face like the sunset we've never seen, you slowly rise. In the empty darkness I can feel your eyes linger on me for a while. They silently take me in, as if the tiny shifts in your pupils were discussing the unspoken language of my body, asking whether I was ready for bed.
They say if you cant be with the one you love, love the one you're with. My ears pick up your footsteps falling on the carpeted stairs, the muffled vibrations pass through me without hardly a thought. Little remnants of you, of me, of us; have stained the floors of our home like stale beer, forever a reminder of choice and consequence. Like piles of clothes strewn about in a whirlwind of passion, to be later regretfully trod upon and wrinkled beyond recognition. So many years and tears have made these rooms what they are, they've filled the house like a nagging thought, always just at the tip of my tongue. The sounds of you have become instilled forever in my subconscious.
In my world it comes down to trial and error. You reap what you sow, and there comes a time when you need to get your hands dirty with the soil. It takes only a moment before I follow you inside, and make my way to bed.
They say if you love something let it go. The smoke is thick around us, and the only sounds are your rushing breaths and the creak of the swing. The occasional breeze picks my thoughts like a guitar. The tune goes unnoticed as it drifts above us, and sets the air ahumming. It's been so long since I've shared myself out loud with you. As the last embers of your cigarette set on your face like the sunset we've never seen, you slowly rise. In the empty darkness I can feel your eyes linger on me for a while. They silently take me in, as if the tiny shifts in your pupils were discussing the unspoken language of my body, asking whether I was ready for bed.
They say if you cant be with the one you love, love the one you're with. My ears pick up your footsteps falling on the carpeted stairs, the muffled vibrations pass through me without hardly a thought. Little remnants of you, of me, of us; have stained the floors of our home like stale beer, forever a reminder of choice and consequence. Like piles of clothes strewn about in a whirlwind of passion, to be later regretfully trod upon and wrinkled beyond recognition. So many years and tears have made these rooms what they are, they've filled the house like a nagging thought, always just at the tip of my tongue. The sounds of you have become instilled forever in my subconscious.
In my world it comes down to trial and error. You reap what you sow, and there comes a time when you need to get your hands dirty with the soil. It takes only a moment before I follow you inside, and make my way to bed.
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