Another day on the metro bus

by the dreamer

“Dun-Nun” and out came my card from the digital reader. What I am about to tell you next will be most sad of things. I had gazed down the long corridor of the bus lane. Depression. The colors had seemed a monotonous gray, even in the faces of the people. I walked with bold steps, expressionless- the mirrors in the eyes I had seen. Here and there I would see a really cute girl every now and then, that must have some of the highlights riding the local metro bus (the only actually). Everyone seldom spoke, and some would glance a short look onto you, then hide away in their own reverie. I felt dead in the inside I didnt feel so much to enlighten others, though I am a very cordial individual mind you. So I conformed to the socialization and behaviors accepted riding the bus- sit down and shutup! I remember keeping a journal and writing about it, how I must have missed the jogging headlines on the bus stating its destination was at the end of the earth and simply I would believe it. I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs and scream that were all dead, but I was dead too, keeping to myself, writing by myself, what a creeper they must say, thought of course. It was rare to see these miserable people crack a smile even to save their own life.

It was full, people were caving in like immigrants in a safe house. Now we were really getting to know each other. You were aware of peoples odor and had no choice but to listen to their mundane conversations. It was my luck though, a pretty good highlight of my day I may add. She had no choice but to stand hanging on to the metal bar right in front of me as I sat serenely sometimes crossing a glance or two at her and her at me, talking with our eyes. I had a keen inference she was going to the local college because she was equipped with a backpack and there were other bands of students as well. There was this moment where the bus usually takes peoples faces backward and forward, or side to side, like dummies that we were. This one moment she had leaned towards me and those supple breasts my friends presented themselves to me by accident, ripe and erect they were. I felt a flurry of sexual arousal that I could not help but feel. She had pierced my eyes at that moment, meek and humble they were. I felt desire. She gazed at me from above like a goddess looking down onto mortals. Only someone as myself would be lucky enough to stare at her in awe in this situation. She was ripe and young, plum, what a plus I may say. When she had left her stop, I wrote about her, I knew I was. It hit me, still dead in the inside, how were not allowed to tell other people how we feel, or simply to tell them that we just lust them. Our eyes cry for help, and our mouths are sewn shut.

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