Post Ride

I’m a guy and I don’t cry. But I just did.

What does this mean?

I have kept cool because I’ve made sense out of everything. And besides…

Guys don’t cry. Right?

I made a choice and it hurts. Last thing I remember I was on a party bus with the girl of my dreams headed somewhere I couldn’t go. Not sure where it was headed.

I had to get off. I had found her. I miss her so much. I had my gift. I wanted so badly to run home and unwrap her. To hold her. To build a shelf for her.

I would build a house just for my gift. But I don’t have what it takes yet anyway…maybe she would find a way to leave with the next passenger. Someone who could do the things I wanted to do for her one day.

Sorry, excuse me a moment…

I did it again. I cried. Like I’m mourning. I miss her. But I know I can’t have her. Not on my terms. Not on her terms. On the terms of the bus schedule.

Where the bus goes, she goes. Back on my feet. Back in my car. Back to building. Maybe she will see the sky scrapper I’m building. I want her to come see it one day. I want her to come be with me one day.

I still want her.

I still miss her.

I still love her. Always will.

(Refer to my previous entry The Girl On The Party Bus)