ride [l.t]

iii. mia

i took out my pen and wrote another quote on my journal,

"dear me, one day, i'll make you proud."

and then i sketched for a few minutes,

i drew him and his pronounced cheekbones, his eyes that attracted mine like if they were magnets and the trail of smoke his cigarette always left.

one more minute and i'll see him again, one minute and i'll be seeing the old bus with green paint fading on its sides.

i wrote another quote on my journal,

"stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it."

i looked up from my journal as i heard the shrieking bus approach.

my eyes immediately wander to the third row, and there he is,

the smoke leaving his cigarette,

the music playing into his ears,

and his eyes take a glimpse of mine as he goes away; again.

i wish i could be able to be part of his ride.