The bus

​I sat on that bus for longer than I should have been.  I missed my stop and missed the other chances to get off.  But every time we reached the end of the line I stayed and just sat there.  I let the day go by, watching the sun go down from that same seat.  People came and went; during the busiest times it was easy to forget a face.  But towards the night the driver must’ve noticed me in that same spot.  He never said a word.  Not until we reached the station one final time.  “End of the line kid.” he looked reluctant to tell me this.  I’m sure he saw something in my face that told the story that words couldn’t.  I got up from my seat and left the bus, standing on the bus platform without a plan or thought in mind.  The bus closed its doors, set to leave for the night.  It’s lights already reading out of service.  As I stood there treelike, the doors reopened and the driver looked at my direction.  C’mon kid, one last stop.  I stepped back in the bus and he drove me home.

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