the bus way home

"the bus can wait,"
I say as we eat beside the station.

we can talk for an hour or two—
another bus will come to take me by then.

my house can wait,
but the home I found in you cannot—

not when every tick of the clock counts,
not when I know you won't stay for long.

your bus arrives,
yet you wait for mine.

I pray it takes a little longer,
wishing time would stand still.

stolen stares, playful smiles, soft whispers,
my bus has finally come to take me away.

all I can do is look back at your bus,
your back against the wall.

because the bus will keep moving forward
and we won't look back anymore.

and so, we part again—
this time, for good.