To the Girl I won’t see tonight.
Or the fickle duality of desire.
That… was an awful start. Nevertheless I’m hoping that it’ll suffice.
Although it’s a cold and lackluster night, I’m writing right now because on this bus stop, it feels like it’s brimming with life.
Is all I can seem to say but what I hope it encapsulates is my excitement to meet you, and how I’m happy and honoured that I’m the one you chose to while away the day.
I find that mirth bubbles in my chest in regret for how breathless I get because everyone I’ve ever fancied or fell for so far will only ever amount to a composite snap of you.
Would be the clouds I fall through in my imagination of who you are.
Putting you on a pedestal?
Haven’t I met you?
Go through nights alone with this longing in my bones, what is this feeling stuck in my soul?
Maybe I missed you, chasing a pipe dream.
Ignored you, charging a mirage full steam.
I have to wonder, who you may have sacrificed for that gleam in your eye.
Or is it in mine? From the desecrated hearts that lie cast aside.
These portents may as well be lies, my hands can no longer abide these tides-
I don’t know if I want to get on this bus anymore.