One night years ago during final season, we waited in the rain for the 25 bus to come. It was past midnight, and the cold April rain gripped my hands and face. He patiently kept me awake with conversations that I don't even remember - video games, politics. The rain kept pouring on us, but he didn't leave my side.
When it was finally obvious that the 25 was not coming anymore, and I had missed my last bus back to dorm, I pleaded with him to let me stay the night. And back we trekked through the cold and wet to his place. I had no dry clothes. He was sleepy. We got to sleep as fast as we could. I don't remember much else.
But the wait, for something that eventually did not come, I still remember. I was disappointed, but I knew I had someone beside me. I knew I had somewhere to go. A direction.
Here I am years later, waiting again. My life had shifted this year. Things started to become bad. Bad in a complicated way. Not in the way a 9th-grader would mean. And I'm lost. While waiting.
I continue to wait for the 25 nowadays to get home. I don't feel so lonely now. But I wonder where is my 25 bus in life? What if it never comes like that night when I had missed it? He won't be around to shelter me for the night. Then what is left to do? I would have to wait by myself at the bus stop until morning comes and service starts again. Perhaps that's what I'm doing now. Holding myself together in the night. Alone.
Whereas I was holding on before, I am now waiting. For myself to get better. For everything good to return to me. On some days, despondence seizes me. In those times, nothing makes sense, and nothing means anything. But I just wait for the hopelessness to let go of me, and slowly I remember that the bus does run again, sometime around 5 am.
When it was finally obvious that the 25 was not coming anymore, and I had missed my last bus back to dorm, I pleaded with him to let me stay the night. And back we trekked through the cold and wet to his place. I had no dry clothes. He was sleepy. We got to sleep as fast as we could. I don't remember much else.
But the wait, for something that eventually did not come, I still remember. I was disappointed, but I knew I had someone beside me. I knew I had somewhere to go. A direction.
Here I am years later, waiting again. My life had shifted this year. Things started to become bad. Bad in a complicated way. Not in the way a 9th-grader would mean. And I'm lost. While waiting.
I continue to wait for the 25 nowadays to get home. I don't feel so lonely now. But I wonder where is my 25 bus in life? What if it never comes like that night when I had missed it? He won't be around to shelter me for the night. Then what is left to do? I would have to wait by myself at the bus stop until morning comes and service starts again. Perhaps that's what I'm doing now. Holding myself together in the night. Alone.
Whereas I was holding on before, I am now waiting. For myself to get better. For everything good to return to me. On some days, despondence seizes me. In those times, nothing makes sense, and nothing means anything. But I just wait for the hopelessness to let go of me, and slowly I remember that the bus does run again, sometime around 5 am.
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