I am in love with the boy two seats ahead and across the aisle of the 10am city bus. He sits in the same seat every Friday when he gets on from the bus stops by the park. Every Friday he is wearing a sweater with his fingers pulling nervously at the end of his sleeves. I’ve never seen him wear the same sweater twice.

I could tell you a lot about this boy. I could tell you that he spends more money on sweaters than shoes, because in the four months that I’ve been riding the 10am Friday city bus, he has worn 17 sweaters and 3 pairs of shoes. (6 pairs of jeans.) I could tell you why this boy wears sweaters; once his sleeve slipped down his arm. This boy wears sweaters because he doesn’t want people to know he’s sad. (This is why I wear sweaters, too.) I could tell you that this boy and I listen to the same bands. When he plugs in his headphones and scrolls through his playlists, I can see the album cover art.

Friday the 12th, I sat two seats ahead, across the aisle. He sat down next to me. We didn’t speak, he just put one side of his headphones in my ear.

On Friday the 26th, we didn’t wear sweaters.

Friday the 3rd, as we listened to my bus playlist, he laced his fingers through mine. I could feel the lines of sadness on his forearm. I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see me cry.

Friday the 10th, he asked for my phone number. That night he called and told me he was standing on the edge. I took the 10pm Friday city bus to the building and we cried. Our first kiss was stained by the taste of salt.

Friday the 13th, we drew butterflies on each others sadness.

I am in love with the boy on the 10am Friday city bus, and while past experience tells me I’m wrong, I think he might love me too.