On the bus ride home

I thought I saw someone I used to know

begin to board the bus.

A few seconds was the

duration of my attention before I riveted

my eyes back to the screen of my phone,

though the contents of that screen were the

last things on my mind.

With a lurch, the bus began its evening route and

I looked out the window.

On the bus ride home,

I spoke to my mother.

She told me to pay no

mind, that you weren't worth my

time, not anymore and never

was.

I agreed.

Two taps on the screen of

my phone and my music was

playing once more, so

I looked out the window.

On the bus ride home,

my thoughts veered to your

parents.

I wondered if the

affection they had for me

before

was ever real in the first place

or if it was simply a case of

siding with your

own blood.

"People can be shitty,"

a good friend of mine said as

I revealed my thoughts,

"That is not your fault, baby."

I agreed.

And then she typo'ed and the

conversation shifted into

something a little more

lighthearted.

I looked out the window.

On the bus ride home,

we had a stop over so some

passengers could get off.

I looked up.

It wasn't you.

I sat back and smiled

feeling a little lighter than I did before and

I looked out the window.

On the bus ride home,

I spoke to my mother again.

It wasn't her. I'm fifteen minutes away.

I'll be home soon.

Home.

I looked out the window.

On the bus ride home,

my phone

pinged and the bus

lurched and the lights

turned on and

I looked away from the window and

I've forgotten about you again.

I was home.