Through the night

I turn my eyes from the window to find someone sitting next ot me. As he settles in, the smell of pepermint wafts to me. He hunches forward, in his own world. A hood covers his face allowing only my imagination to see what he really looks like. The bus turns and I feel his weight against one side and the window against the other. Callused hands worry each other, grasped polietly in his lap. Two ladies, seats ahead, talk about rent while a man at the front gesticulates wildly with his hands. A slight profile of my companion emerges. The reflection in the window allows a round nose and serious lips to escape the shadow of his hood. The bus is alive tonight. People talking, dreaming, feeling. The stopping of the bus gives me bursts of scent from my faceless partner. It's a constant reminder of his world, so close to me, yet somehow so untouchable. He rubs his face. People leave, the talking slows. The emotions don't. Looking out over the bus like my kingdom, the people are mine. Thier feelings, thoughts, worries have all become a burden on my shoulders. My companion puts his hands on the seat in front of us. Deliberatly, he stands, and exits. Into the night goes my silent friend. His face is still a mystery, but he has moved me. He has brought this pen to paper. But now we move on. My stop is next and I shall exit this space, never to return to the silent friend, the worry of rent, and the feel of that trip through the night.

Clean

Scared. Frightened. What do these have to do with me? Love. Encouragement. Why are these my words? Are you selfish for being frightened for someone? Or for loving them? Should they have a say of who can feel for them? For, if I do not want you to love me, feel for me, be scared for me, how could you? Would you trample on me like that? If I told you I didn't want you to love me, could you stop? If you told me that I could no longer feel excited for you when you got ahead, would I be able to do that? How are we allowed to feel emotions for others? I feel it is a right of a person to be able to not allow that. I am doing it to protect you. For if you stop loving me you won't be hurt. And if you won't get hurt then I won't have to worry about you. See? It's all so much cleaner and more rational. Could we just stop the mess of emotions and allow the logic of the situation to assert itself. Rise above the inability to function. No more will you drown in your own emotions. No more would there be breathless moments where you weren't sure that you would be able to breath again for fear. It could all be washed away, it would all be, once and for all, clean.

The Devil

Somehow knowing that you are not going to leave again is refreshing. Knowing that you have unpacked your suitcase, for at least a little bit, is comforting. Here I am in a cafe not a block from my street at ten at night. Live music is in the background while I watch the staff clean up. This sense of comunity is something I have never before experienced. It is less of a broad stroak and more in the subtle hints. The devil is in the details.