Bus Ride

In the end it doesn’t matter. The evening with its heavy clouds coming down like the eyelids of a child trying to stay awake, slowly succumbing to sleep. The last shops closing, a quiet presence stretching out along the pavements before settling beneath the amber cover of streetlights. All seems a breath, a sigh away from dissolving into the reflections of itself glazed on wet streets, floating off and becoming exhibits in memory's gallery of the missing. It wasn't meant to be like this, head resting against the window of a moving bus, the mind dozing off into a long, thin blur, heading towards who knows where.