Bus Rides (and First Impressions)

It was past nine in the evening, and the mall was about to close. For the weirdest reason, I found myself worrying that something wouldn’t turn out right when you arrive. No, don’t worry. This is something new, I tell myself as I rub my hands together, while waiting for you outside the mall.

At last, after a few minutes of waiting, you came. I tried my best to assess this situation and not make a fool out of myself. You confirmed our meet up spot was closed already, and you suggested we go elsewhere just before you ride the bus to your weekday place.

I tried to do small talk, but there you were fixated on something you didn’t want to disclose. After that flight of stairs and another stumble, I decided to just bring you back to the bus stop, as you constantly reassure me that nothing is wrong. (As if I would take that for real.)

Why does it always have to be like this, when I go to such places? Always afraid of sending off someone close to me, and feeling they may never come back?

As I slowly succumb to the cold air, and the texts that came colder than your usual warm self, I begin to question myself.

It made me realize how much I hate buses.