the front of a bus

I only see people I miss in my dreams. when they appear before me with open arms it feels real and I forget they’ve been gone for so long. when I wake I hate myself for not holding onto them longer. in my dreams I don’t miss them because they can always come back.

before I stir to the day and the boulder I clasp on to the front of a bus. the road ahead is dimly lit as we fly down the streets I’ve learnt to call home since leaving the home I knew before. the turns are sharp and I clasp onto the windscreen wipers to avoid falling prey to the wheels and the asphalt. the night is cold and my heart is racing. I am scared and I smile.

I press buttons and the lights turn green. the cat sleeps through my phone calls with voices I’ll never tie to faces. I let myself wish I could be more like him.