Something about writing opens me from inside out. Writing takes me to parts of myself I could only have imagined existed. My gratitude to 
Here goes...
At the Bus-Station,
I saw a reflection of me.
Like the mirror created by pot-hole water,
I saw myself wearily.
At the Bus-Station,
....late last night.
I boarded an over-fared bus and hung on.
The big question is, Why?
At the Bus- Station,
It was getting late....I thought.
What if I didn’t find another.
What did it matter if the extra money drenched a hole in my pocket.
At the Bus-Station.
Against the will of everything in me,
Taunted by my stupidity,
Still, I stayed!
Where you at the bus-station,
Wouldn’t you?
Don’t judge me just yet.
I mean, isn’t that what we all do?
Hang on to relationships we ought to let go of.
Hurting every second of the way but letting ‘what if’ win.
Allowing fear of not finding another make us try to manage an unmanageable situation.
At the Bus-Station,
My Paraclete won ....eventually.
For He made me look back,
And Lo! I was the only dumb-ass left in the bus.
That’s when I decided to leave.
At the Bus-Station,
Just behind the first bus was another.
Taking the usual fare, was almost full and ready to go.
Whew!!!
At the Bus-Station,
I almost sold my destiny to a wrong another out of fear.
Hold on... just a second,
It might not be so soon in your case.
But ask yourself why you still hanging on and take the hint.
At the Bus-Station,
....late last night.
I saw a weary reflection of me,
Like a mirror created by pot-hole water,
And it made me sad.
