I regret it now. Seating here at this bus stop with this sleeping bag on my lap, I regret it now.
I regret what I said last night. I just wanted to hurt her the way I hurt. I just wanted to shift the pain from me to her. She should have told me before. I shouldn't have needed to find out like that.
I feel so cold here while waiting for the bus. So cold inside. I'm scared. I was scared. I shouldn't have said it. I didn't mean it.
This sleeping bag feels so light. Why do I feel so heavy?
I followed her from the shop. I just needed to make sure she was ok.
Why did this biting wind seem to purposely focus on her?
She did not seem to notice her mousy brown hair whipping her face every so often. She seems so vulnerable seating at that bus stop with that faraway expression on her face. Several buses have already come and gone. She looks so alone, carrying that sleeping bag.
Every so often I see her unconsciously stroking it as if she's trying to soothe herself. Stroke, stroke. With her long slender fingers and chewed cracked purple nails. I put that nail polish on her. It seems so long ago.
She's been crying.
Her pale face can't ever hide her emotions from me. Those tear streaked cheeks are sure to have dried by now. Even on this cold day I can tell she’s been crying.
She bites her lip.
I remember her doing that as a child when she tried to stop herself from crying. Her complete attention must be on that one action. To contain those threatening tears bubbling under the surface. She will draw blood if she’s not careful.
Those glasses, almost too big for her face. A daily constant mask from the world. Is she cold?
Maybe I should approach and give her my gloves. I didn't want to hurt her. I tried to shield her. Even after what she said I didn't want to hurt her. I deserved it. I should have been honest. I should have told her I liked him years ago. That we had started seeing each other. I was going to tell her. Or maybe even that was a lie, like everything else I told myself. Maybe the person I was shielding was me, from the truth. Maybe I was always waiting in the shadows for my chance. I deserve it.
She sits at the bus stop with that sleeping bag almost forgotten on her lap. Like a sleeping polyester cat. Stroke, stroke. Where is she sleeping? Tap tapping continuously on the floor with her brown scuffed shoes. Dancing between cold and impatience. That coat is not warm enough.
Please come back.
Photo by Hadinet Tekie