Bus Stops ✓

.xii

. x i i

the memory of you – of us – was still vivid on my mind, playing over and over again. it was still so clear and for countless of times, i thought it was happening again.

i wasn't quite ready to face you yet. but i felt excited and happy and jittery all at the same time. all these new feelings were unyielding — and i just couldn't do anything. it felt nice. it felt okay. it felt alright.

it felt a lot like citrus and mint, and of something familiar.

my breath hitched as the bus stopped in front of me. i slowly took my steps forward and as i gripped the metal door, i was certain my sanity had left me for the moon.

i examined the bus — it still felt the same. the worn out leather, the chilly smell, the cold air, and the noises the passengers made. i gripped my white coat tighter.

i let my eyes wander around. a baby and his mother on the front, a highschool girl studying for her test on the right, a sleeping old man on the far left, and a middle-aged couple on the back.

and it dawned upon me.

i didn't see a pair of black headphones. i didn't hear the faint music i was used to listen to. i didn't smell that familiar scent of citrus and mint.

i didn't see carter. i didn't see you.