Friday, August 19, 2011

The Long Ride Home


He walks onto the bus, already filled with people bustling in their seats, trying to be comfortable. He takes a look at his ticket, identifies his seat number and finds his seat. He places his bag under the seat, leans back and takes a deep breath. Closing his eyes, tired, and nervous. He patiently waits for the conductor to check passenger tickets.

"Ticket please."

He takes out his ticket from his shirt pocket and passes it to the conductor. After a few minutes, the conductor was done and the bus gets ready to leave. He looks out the rain soaked window, as the cold mist descends on the concrete jungle of tinted glasses and billboards and logos and ads. He focuses on one particular building. Faded white with a hint of yellowish white, indicating the building is already a few years old.

Slowly he watches the scenic view of the now moving world. Changing bit by bit. As concrete began to look green, the sky clearer, realizing that the changes he was seeing meant that he was getting closer.

Tired, he falls asleep, and dreams of the the warm touch on his chest, the warm breath on his face, the soft breathing of the muse, the lady in flowers, the lady in bright colors, the sundress. He wakes up as the bus rattled strongly from braking. He is dazed, between sleeping and being awake, between the warm touch of the flower lady, and the cold air conditioning in the bus. After a few minutes, he falls asleep again, smiling, and she comes to him, in his dreams. And she tells him all the tales in the world, she tells him stories of love and hate, war and peace, heart and mind, body and soul, and then she kisses him. Blowing sweet nothings into his ears. Telling him, convincing him, of everything.

He wakes up to the sound of bus driver shouting, trying to wake passengers up. A bit annoyed he moves his body sideways, and covers his ears, not wanting to listen to the noise, wanting to go to dreamland and be sung.

So he stays, in that middle ground between there and here. Where he wants her to be but she isnt. So he waits, with only the feel of the warmth of her hand on his cheek. And that is enough for now,to make him sleep.

He wakes up, takes a look at his watch and looks outside. The pitch black dark night outside illuminated by the odd light pole. He recognizes the surroundings. As he walked to the bus driver wanting to be let down to the side of the road. And as he walks down the bus, he walks towards the house. Slowly, nervously, eagerly, wanting to see the girl of his dreams.

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