Post by anada on Jan 11, 2006 13:14:23 GMT 10
I wrote this for a friend at another forum :]
It features no gasoos, but err.
Yeah.
---
I saw you every day of the week. You'd kiss him goodbye and hurriedly run up the steps to the bus. The driver always greeted you with his best smile and asked how you were, yet never turned to bade me a good morning. You were the glistening image of an angel, complete with your casual personality. But then..
Sitting alone adjacent to the automated door this Stygian-painted day, I looked away as you passed my seat. And yet, inside, I wished you'd notice me.
Sighing after another chance taken away, I took out a new packet of cigarettes. The box was still wrapped in the cheap plastic covering that was really just a hinderance to me. I started at the small strip of red to the side of the white box. You stopped right next to me, and I looked up, eyebrow arched. My heart was pounding, mad as a bulldog. You took the cigarette package from my left hand and looked directly into my eyes. "Smoking's bad for you." Not knowing what step to take next, you still handed the cigarettes back to me. Then you walked on to the back of the bus. There was no expression on your face. The usual dainty smile was no longer apparent.
As you directed yourself to a seat, I saw tears fall gently through your eyelashes.
The rainfall, which would normally have irritated my sensitive sense of smell, was no longer bothersome that day I saw you cry. The hard beat of the rain turned to a soft pitter-patter. Even the bus rode gracefully amongst the rough edgy streets. I wanted to comfort you, hug you so tight. I wanted to be the sunshine, the renewed spirit of your life.
Bumping into you several mornings later, I pushed a memo into your unzipped jacket pocket as you had a small chat with the driver. Even though I was the cause, you bowed your head automatically and apoligized. I took a seat and turned to face the window for fear of your noticing the slip of paper too early.
That night was so painful as I waited for your call. My head was flooded with toughts. Was a good time, right after your breakup? What would I say if you ever did dial my number? Maybe you didn't ever recieve the paper. It might have fallen out of your pocket during our messy disembarkment.. Maybe you had thrown it away, thinking it was garbage. Maybe you were wondering whether or not to call.. Or maybe you were too frightened. We were, after all, just strangers.
Still, I waited.
Waited and waited until exactly midnight. You called, asking about myself. I immediately said I was the smoker on the bus. I could have painted your face right there. Eyebrow arching, mind void of thoughts. I explained myself more vividly, and we were drained into a long talk. Last I read the clock, the dim numbers were a three and two ones. We'd really stayed up talking abount nonsense, but it did you well, I guessed. You were much more of a cheerful person that night. Much more than the one I'd seen on the bus lately. I hung up without getting your name, nor you, mine.
The next day, I thought you weren't going to show up after waiting a minute at your usual bus stop. Half a dozen other characters entered through the bus doors, but no one like you. I then looked out the dirty yellowing window. It was shut tight, but your conversation was so audible to my eyes. There you stood with that same guy I'd seen the first time you came on the bus. As you got near, I asked about the breakup with him. "It was all a misunderstanding," you told me later. You'd lost your sister that day from a drunk driver. Not your relationship with him. You again made your way around busy feet to a seat.
I sighed, realizing what a fool I'd been, then gently chuckled to myself. I was in love with you, and I didn't even know your name. What did I lose? Nothing, really. After all, we were just complete strangers.
---
How was it?
It features no gasoos, but err.
Yeah.
---
I saw you every day of the week. You'd kiss him goodbye and hurriedly run up the steps to the bus. The driver always greeted you with his best smile and asked how you were, yet never turned to bade me a good morning. You were the glistening image of an angel, complete with your casual personality. But then..
Sitting alone adjacent to the automated door this Stygian-painted day, I looked away as you passed my seat. And yet, inside, I wished you'd notice me.
Sighing after another chance taken away, I took out a new packet of cigarettes. The box was still wrapped in the cheap plastic covering that was really just a hinderance to me. I started at the small strip of red to the side of the white box. You stopped right next to me, and I looked up, eyebrow arched. My heart was pounding, mad as a bulldog. You took the cigarette package from my left hand and looked directly into my eyes. "Smoking's bad for you." Not knowing what step to take next, you still handed the cigarettes back to me. Then you walked on to the back of the bus. There was no expression on your face. The usual dainty smile was no longer apparent.
As you directed yourself to a seat, I saw tears fall gently through your eyelashes.
The rainfall, which would normally have irritated my sensitive sense of smell, was no longer bothersome that day I saw you cry. The hard beat of the rain turned to a soft pitter-patter. Even the bus rode gracefully amongst the rough edgy streets. I wanted to comfort you, hug you so tight. I wanted to be the sunshine, the renewed spirit of your life.
Bumping into you several mornings later, I pushed a memo into your unzipped jacket pocket as you had a small chat with the driver. Even though I was the cause, you bowed your head automatically and apoligized. I took a seat and turned to face the window for fear of your noticing the slip of paper too early.
That night was so painful as I waited for your call. My head was flooded with toughts. Was a good time, right after your breakup? What would I say if you ever did dial my number? Maybe you didn't ever recieve the paper. It might have fallen out of your pocket during our messy disembarkment.. Maybe you had thrown it away, thinking it was garbage. Maybe you were wondering whether or not to call.. Or maybe you were too frightened. We were, after all, just strangers.
Still, I waited.
Waited and waited until exactly midnight. You called, asking about myself. I immediately said I was the smoker on the bus. I could have painted your face right there. Eyebrow arching, mind void of thoughts. I explained myself more vividly, and we were drained into a long talk. Last I read the clock, the dim numbers were a three and two ones. We'd really stayed up talking abount nonsense, but it did you well, I guessed. You were much more of a cheerful person that night. Much more than the one I'd seen on the bus lately. I hung up without getting your name, nor you, mine.
The next day, I thought you weren't going to show up after waiting a minute at your usual bus stop. Half a dozen other characters entered through the bus doors, but no one like you. I then looked out the dirty yellowing window. It was shut tight, but your conversation was so audible to my eyes. There you stood with that same guy I'd seen the first time you came on the bus. As you got near, I asked about the breakup with him. "It was all a misunderstanding," you told me later. You'd lost your sister that day from a drunk driver. Not your relationship with him. You again made your way around busy feet to a seat.
I sighed, realizing what a fool I'd been, then gently chuckled to myself. I was in love with you, and I didn't even know your name. What did I lose? Nothing, really. After all, we were just complete strangers.
---
How was it?
