Bus thoughts

I envy those who’ve never known Loneliness.
She is not just empty space—she’s a presence,
cold fingers brushing the back of your neck
when no one’s watching.

She feeds on silence, on the ache that lingers after goodbye.
We passed a field—wide, green, untouched.
A single Canada goose stood in the grass,
still as a statue.

We’re not so different,  
him and I.  
Loneliness found us both.  
But maybe  
she’s kinder to him—  
maybe he chose her.  
Maybe she’s a blessing in disguise  
when you don't expect more.

Maybe she and I  
were meant to walk together.  
Maybe I was never meant to know  
what it feels like  
to have a best friend—  
someone who laughs with me,  
not at me;  
someone who sings the same off-key songs  
and still calls them beautiful.  

It sounds like a dream—  
and maybe that’s why  
I’ve never found it.  
Because I don’t believe in dreams.  
I believe in what I see.