To the boy on the bus,

with the thick brown hoodie and the old running shoes and the wireframed glasses

and the ripped jeans that started at the knees

when you bought them

but strecthed to your lower thigh.

 

To the boy on the bus,

the one who sat crosswise from me.

The one with the fake smile and the sad frown.

The one who glanced back, everyday, to check to see if I was there.

The one who shared with me, the last stop.

And, like me, didn't get home until the sun began its decsent.

 

To the boy on the bus,

whose sonorous voice cracked with confident,

who felt no shame in leaning

inches away from my face

to talk about the weather.

The boy who blushed when he laughed

at my remark with chattering teeth and shivering bones

that the cold wasn't all that bad.

 

To the boy on the bus,

I have to ask.

Did you feel my eyes glimpse at the side of your face?

Did you ever feel that we were more than a seat apart?

Did you ever regret offering to take that extra half hour to walk with me home?

Did you ever regret locking lips under the bare bridge beside the frozen creek?

You must have, right?

 

To the boy on the bus,

is is wrong that I miss you?

Miss tangling fingers under the seat and avoiding the glare of the bus driver?

Miss kissing you like it was all I wanted in that momment?

Miss the time I spent with you, that made me feel like a human being?

What happened?

What did I do?

 

Was it the shame? The fear?

What made you want to take  another way home?

What made you treat me like a stranger?

Was it my tears?

Or was it you no longer needing the warmth?

Was it the haircut? The coming of the coming of spring?

What made you pretend it all never happened?

 

Dear boy on the bus,

Was it a dream?

Was it all in my mind?

Is that why you forgot my name?

Didn't you say that we could travel the stars together?

That nobody would care on the moon?

 

To the boy on the bus,

I miss you.

I won't forget you.

 

Please be real.