bus stop – (en)

There was a young woman whose path often crossed with mine at the bus stop while we were waiting. She was sweet and soft-spoken, and she never failed to greet me.

Sometimes we talked about the weather, when days were too bleak to speak about other things, but I never dared to ask her name, even though I longed for it. I sensed it would be a musical name and delicate blues will have it in their lyrics, and if ever my shyness would be cornered or curiosity subjugated me, I would hear an unusual name that would delight me. I knew she felt safe by my side, because she always came smiling where I stayed, and there she remained silent until the time to leave arrived. And I suspected part of her calm resided in my apparent indifference on conversations seized with queries. I was glad when she was close, and I liked to watch her when she seemed not to notice it. And I loved her stillness and her absent happiness that invited me to crave for her reserved friendship. And that is maybe why, because her quiet charm was haunting me, I guess I have never adjured her name. Such was her allure as she then was, that I could not bear that, because of me, she could one day change.

Time has passed, like a hand waving from a train, traveling the world over to find the beauty. Haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere, homesick for places I have never been, I traversed humanity far enough until I meet my own self, to then realize I carried prettiness within all the way, from a familiar ground.

Aware of life’s timelessness, back on yesterday, I returned this morning to the bus stop. They can take the music that I will never play, all the broken dreams, they can all take. Take them away but allow me the moment to have one more time my yesterday.

Minutes, unnoticed, may have passed, until a voice woke me up from my reverie, “Won’t you go in?” Confused I have shaken my head while the bus left down the street. A feeling, whose length cannot be measured, painfully crossed me, “You are still with me, even when you’re not by my side.” But now, like a reinterpretation of the man I was yesterday, all I can do is get through to another tomorrow, hoping to be less in love again. And I wish she never had to think about anything as much as I think about her.

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Bus stop – Dugutigui