Sometimes, I just get tired (of everyone).
I was perusing Jon's diary this evening. I didn't think I knew him that well and it turns out I was right.
On the bus home tonight, there was a girl. She got on at Rideau and got off at the Loeb. She was wearing pink sandals, a billowing pink skirt, and a brown wool sweater with a hood that she kept over her short, jet black hair the entire time. She asked the middle-aged man across the aisle if he would let her have one of the many stuffed animals he had with him. He apologetically refused, in a very thick swedish accent. She looked to the back of the bus, to me and smiled. Her round, cherubic face looked much younger than she probably was. I made eye contact and smiled in return but quickly turned my gaze towards the window out of awkwardness. The fluorescent lights inside mixed with the darkness of the night to form mirrors and I watched her for minutes through the reflection until she did the same. We smiled flirtatiously when our eyes met and she stifled a giggle. She rang the bell and stood in front of the door, her skirt flowing with the small breeze let in by the crack in the door. She turned to look at me but a man waiting to get off came between us. She stepped out when the door opened, turned around and blew me a kiss. Flattered, I smiled in return until the bus turned the corner.
My writing is not (and should not be) anyone's bible.
I love you