Subway Rides

Early mornings, cold coffee.

This bus ride is always so long, but I have time to kill.

The noise from the engine helps to distract me from my thoughts.

You.

Cause you're all I think about.

It makes me sick to think about just how much I think about you.

When did this happen?

When did you take over?

It uneases me.

I've tried my hardest to never need anyone.

Then, you happened, and I need you, I do.

Why?

How?

Do you need me too?

The notion that I might be trotting down a one way street is enough to send my nerves into a frenzy.

Am I not enough for you?

I've let myself go.

I'm not pretty anymore.

The lines on my face show more now.

My body isn't what it used to be.

My hair is always up in a mess, and I'd rather walk around in your clothes rather than my own.

You can't find me pretty anymore.

I'm sorry.

I'm so anxious that I have to force the sips of coffee down my throat.

When did I stop caring about myself?

I look at my reflection and don't recognize the empty tired eyes staring back at me.

The circles around them get darker every day.

You'd think I'd be too tired to think, but that's all I do.

About you.

It's always about you.

Why?

I sit here staring at the people around me wondering what they must think of me.

I'm sorry you're not proud to show me off anymore.

I can't blame you.

Look at you.

You're beautiful, and I'm nothing but a shell of something that once was.

When? When did this happen?

How did I let this happen?

Everything seems like such a blur from one moment to the next, I can't place my finger on it.

We're not even half way to the station yet.

I hate transit.

You know this.

You know me.

You know things about me I didn't even realize you were paying attention to.

Why?

Why do you try to care so much?

About every detail, every word not spoken, every look, every angle.

Everything.

Why?

I have nothing left to offer you.

I have nothing.

All I got is this coffee, this cold coffee that I can't even drink anymore.

The only reason I'm still holding on to it is because there's no garbage on this bus.

It's old now.

Could that be what I am to you?

This cup of coffee?

It's still early in the morning, and I'm still on the bus.

Thinking.

About you.

Always about you.