Bus Stops ✓

.i billionaire

. i
b i l l i o n a i r e

the engine of the bus was lowly rumbling as it drove to its destination. i could hear a baby wailing out on the front seat but i didn't mind. hearing it actually makes me feel humane.

i puffed out my cheeks and clasped my hands tighter. it was getting cold. the snowy december was proclaiming its reign again.

i wanna be a billionaire

so freaking bad

my forehead creased. was that my phone ringing? but i wasn't a fan of bruno mars.

and most especially, i'd rather listen to classical music.

the song continued playing. i shook my head, trying to brush it off. but as if the song had heard me, it grew louder in my ears as if mocking my taste of music. i craned my head and looked around.

and to my right, you were there. two seats away from me but i could still hear it — loud and clear, as though it was daring me to listen closer. your eyes were shut closed and i suddenly wondered what eye color was hiding behind your lids. a pair of black headphones were draped over your head and you were wearing a black hoodie that said scram. i blinked. alright, perhaps you weren't a people-person?

my lips parted. you were silent, but as i stared at you and as the music grew louder and louder in my ears, somehow i also started to hear the thousand voices in your head and see a map of your thoughts. you appeared cold, detached, but i could feel the warmth coursing through my spine and my bones at the mere sight of you. you looked rough but i could imagine your touch to be so gentle and soft, like a feather landing on the ground slowly.

and somehow, the thought of you and i — us — warmed my heart like what a sunflower would feel on the first day of summer.

i can feel the stars forming a whole new constellation for us — and only for us to see. the whole universe was conspiring.

and suddenly, all i wanted to hear then was, the faint hum of your music.