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The Bus Stop

I count to infinity when there’s nothing else to do

And I can’t stop looking at the time,

Even though I know it’s not speeding anything up.

I stand under a tree and hide from the light drizzle.

I can’t tell if it’s ending or just beginning.

The sky is gray. The bus is delayed.

The breeze comes and goes.

I wait for what feels like forever while the cars are speeding by.

Waiting twenty five minutes for a forty five minute ride home.

 

By Cristina WilCraft