Frost

Link to article: Frost.

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The late-night city bus
rattles through empty streets, its windows holding a dim display.

As the clock strikes midnight, the frost begins to bloom.

The student wearing a backpack
the office worker whose necktie is half loose
the delivery driver who boarded before me.

Their sighs of exhaustion,
rising elegantly into the recycled air
create a warm, intricate pattern of flowers.

I look at them, bags falling beneath my eyes.

A full day of studying, writing, thinking,
just for people who don’t have a clue that I do this for them.

Though I watch.

As if I’m at some exhibition,
I change seats, walk around, cross my legs
as my body soaks in the presence of
the ignorant yet beautiful flowers.

With one’s frustrated sigh,
with one’s breath of passion from a heated chest,
I wipe away the frost and press my forehead to the glass.

On the cold, shaking window
our reflections overlap.

“Long time no see.”

Friends we’ve known our whole life
but with whom conversation is now forbidden.

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