the girl with the beret on the bus … … …
i saw at the bus-stop on a bitterly cold winter morning, her beret tilted to the side.
we exchanged polite smiles and furtive glances, till along came our ride.
we sat across each other and soon we spoke, breaking the ice with talk of the ice battering our bones.
we spoke of the coldness around us, the frigid souls we’d encounter, and we spoke of life’s pathways and where we were headed.
thus began our short morning ritual, a bus ride with a stranger, not knowing anything about the other except our names.
we often laughed about duelling parents, about the weight we felt we had to carry, the seemingly heavy burdens wracking our selves.
our talks were blisteringly true, as happens at times with strangers, yet we opened ourselves up to each other, trustful of the depths in…
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