The Mundane

I’m waiting at the bus stop. It’s beautiful for some reason. I’m embarrassed to think that it’s beautiful because it’s mundane. It’s called a bus “stop.” But there is movement everywhere. Fingers moving from text to text. I erase that in my mind because it’s corny. I don’t have a pen, just my phone. I can type on my phone, but that would make me weird. Writing about a bus stop feels silly. So I just stand there, tapping my feet. I put in headphones. And listen. My surroundings sparkle even more. Musical reflection connecting to a bus stop… I wish I could come up with something better to write about. The bus arrives. The bus stops. I give up my seat, and stand where everyone can see me. I listen to a pop song about love and other things. I had given up my seat to a man with a cane. I wonder what his story is. He’s just an ordinary person. In an ordinary seat. But I can’t help but smile.