Girls with hands wrapped around the melody of ribbons, around their waists is a band of cherry-blood red, a lick of sun in their mouths and smiles beaming with cheer, surely I can feign a face and enthuse, about the strangeness of hurricanes, the fickleness of clouds. These suburbs, they have become what I am. I wish you had seen though, the day I took the bus out. I boarded a faded yellow thing, with a few passengers, I felt it gain speed and the wind scrape my face.Past many torn and empty buildings we went, for a while they grew taller and I began to see colors in the way people dressed, the sound of whistles travelled onto the streets, sifting past bodies soft and true. There was chatter from the men and children, and something about this place was alive, as I peered out the bus window, conversations were not as headless and I had grown to a kind of heavy ennui, but here, it all seemed lovely. It could’ve been the thrill of leaving, either way I could not find the strength to step off the bus. My mind posed a blank space as precedence, there was nothing behind me worth returning to, yet this new place I had been brought to, something about it was missing. So, I followed the bus to its last stop, there we waited a good hour dreaming our quiet,beastly thoughts, before turning around, finally heading for home.
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