Who knew I would
find love,
on a
public bus?
I didn’t.
That’s what
made it a
magical -
in a way.
It was
summer
and I
was ready
to get home.
I remember,
the squealing of brakes,
and the muffled
curses
as we all
stumbled.
Then he boarded.
He said:
“I’m so sorry.”
at least
fifteen times.
I couldn’t help
but smile.
His dark hair
fell in his
eyes,
his sad,
sad eyes.
We locked gazes
for a
second,
and I saw
the world.
My brain told me:
“Speak to him!”
and my
mouth denied
the order.
I felt my heart
flutter
like a trapped
bird.
It wanted to
fly
to him.
To sing,
to him.
But it kept it
locked
in my rib
cage.
Then his stop came,
and he left
without a
look back.
And this pattern
replayed
everyday.
He boarded.
I smiled.
His sad eyes,
met mine,
then
we looked away.
My bird heart
sang
to itself.
And I knew -
I was
in
love.
I laid
awake,
one night
and I
said to
myself:
“You will
talk to him.”
And my mouth
agreed.
The next morning,
I prepared,
I rehearsed,
and I
let my heart
sing.
To work
I went.
The only excitement came,
when my
co-workers
crowded the office
television,
whispering urgently.
One crying,
another saying:
“What a shame.”
In the distance,
police sirens
sang.
I ignored them,
not wanting to
dampen my
mood.
Then I rushed
to the bus.
His stop came...
and
he
didn’t
board.
I felt
my bird heart
still.
I cried once
I got home.
How foolish,
was I?
Very.
The next morning,
on my
day off,
I turned on the
news.
“Yesterday afternoon,”
the anchor man
said solemnly,
“we witnessed
a jumper.
Today the identity
was released
of the man
how jumped.”
I felt
my singing heart
die
when they showed
the picture.
It was a boy
with dark hair,
and sad
sad
eyes.
find love,
on a
public bus?
I didn’t.
That’s what
made it a
magical -
in a way.
It was
summer
and I
was ready
to get home.
I remember,
the squealing of brakes,
and the muffled
curses
as we all
stumbled.
Then he boarded.
He said:
“I’m so sorry.”
at least
fifteen times.
I couldn’t help
but smile.
His dark hair
fell in his
eyes,
his sad,
sad eyes.
We locked gazes
for a
second,
and I saw
the world.
My brain told me:
“Speak to him!”
and my
mouth denied
the order.
I felt my heart
flutter
like a trapped
bird.
It wanted to
fly
to him.
To sing,
to him.
But it kept it
locked
in my rib
cage.
Then his stop came,
and he left
without a
look back.
And this pattern
replayed
everyday.
He boarded.
I smiled.
His sad eyes,
met mine,
then
we looked away.
My bird heart
sang
to itself.
And I knew -
I was
in
love.
I laid
awake,
one night
and I
said to
myself:
“You will
talk to him.”
And my mouth
agreed.
The next morning,
I prepared,
I rehearsed,
and I
let my heart
sing.
To work
I went.
The only excitement came,
when my
co-workers
crowded the office
television,
whispering urgently.
One crying,
another saying:
“What a shame.”
In the distance,
police sirens
sang.
I ignored them,
not wanting to
dampen my
mood.
Then I rushed
to the bus.
His stop came...
and
he
didn’t
board.
I felt
my bird heart
still.
I cried once
I got home.
How foolish,
was I?
Very.
The next morning,
on my
day off,
I turned on the
news.
“Yesterday afternoon,”
the anchor man
said solemnly,
“we witnessed
a jumper.
Today the identity
was released
of the man
how jumped.”
I felt
my singing heart
die
when they showed
the picture.
It was a boy
with dark hair,
and sad
sad
eyes.

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