On the other side of everything, so it seems.
A languid shadow floating above the heads of strangers, and I land on a puff of cloud in the middle of a crowded bus - unseen.
Looking out the window, and the world is lost to the sound of traffic and the belaboured tick of a turn signal.
The bus is destined for the same stop as it always is but I find myself roaming, roaming.
Night, and the bus travels over a bridge above dark waters.
The streetlights of the city become transposed on itself - reflected backwards in the view of the bus window.
Two cities, perfectly identical, spinning head and tail like siamese planets observing each other across a sea of stars.
It is their likeness that make their tandem drifting a dysphoric passage of time.
Briefly leaning towards a world that seems so much their own, only to ebb back to their little pocket of reclusive space - gravity has no hold.
I must be reflected backwards too.
A girl spinning on her head in a realm just out of reach from conversation.
Spinning on my head through the years only to bump into a few others from time to time, so it seems.
And then, a glance captured - a sudden clap of a fly’s flight between two hands- I have been noticed.
I see the looker too.
Walking towards me as the engine stalls at a red light.
A shared line of sight,
the transference of a pulse,
heartbeats carrel together,
and then, and then - a free seat.
Looker sits down.
Sight is dropped.
The nod of recognition cut short.
Head turns back to fogged window and I am on that puff of cloud, inconspicuous to the warm bodies that fill this cramped place.
Eyes limply scan the wet streets for nothing in particular and I count down the seconds until my vapoured breath turns into nothing.