cliff above the bus stop

not everyone turns their head
towards a familiar face
or a familar sigh.
a smile, a tear
a cry.
why we wait
on the cliff above the bus stop.
on opposing sides of the street.
waiting for numbers to carry us along.

planning paths;
mapping in the dark
nobody’s done this before.
not one soul on
God’s green earth
but we don’t want to be unique.
or special. or alone.
speak
            
echo across the road
to the cliff above the bus stop
perhaps she’ll miss the number
        
and catch you instead.

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