Bus Ride Home

Bus Ride Home

The sunlight tickled my left eyebrow, as I lay my heavy head deeper into the fur hood of my winter coat. It was almost as if the golden light was grazing my face with its fingertips, causing me to wince and sneeze a little. Allergies. 

I sense the middle-aged woman behind me flinch ever so slightly as I shudder from my sneeze, and I apologize in my mind, ‘Sorry woman, but don’t worry, I don’t have Corona,’ then I catch myself thinking, ‘-but I might as well, if every other day of my life turns out as miserable as this one,’ But of course, it’s just a split-second thought, I’d never die because I’m too weak and too strong at the same time. On days like this, a woman’s got to remind herself that there are things to live for and live by, there are tasks to be done, there are people to be met and dreams to be ravished and places to be conquered and- 

-my phone shudders too, I frown as I grudgingly pull it out of my coat pocket, careful as so not to pull too hard on the wire(wireless earphones just don’t make sense to me – or so I tell myself whenever I check my card receipts every now and then), and I raise my eyebrows intentionally as I read- ‘Konni Kim. here’s the password. Bye.’ I mean, three years together and that’s how we’re going to address each other now that we’re done? Come on, this isn’t 1970. 

It sucks enough that I had to ask my ex for the password to our joint webdrive, but what sucks more is having to rummage through 9,476 haunting files to pick out my own photos from the stack of remains of what used to be a relationship. Why is it that love makes us do stupid things like share a fucking webdrive? Never making that mistake again. 

Love sucks, I think as I try to push out any recurring images of him with his new girlfriend, telling myself it’s over and it’s not worth it, it’s not like you were going to marry him in the end anyways, it was a tied up knotted no-good situation and this was going to happen one way or another, but then all the ‘what if’ arguments start boring a hole in my head, asking me ‘what if you had somehow held on’ and ‘what if you had been a better person’ and-

-my misery debate is interrupted by the announcement of the bus telling me I’m home. 

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