the wheels of the bus go round and round, and there my feet, somehow, find their way to foreign territory. footsteps were hesitant and halted in any direction, afraid to make a wrong move, for to land up lost was not the prerogative, not that day at the very least. a neverending aching fatigue that was never too far behind, somehow.
in more ways than one, everything just felt so surreal, so alien, yet so strangely familiar; and another possible cause for an excruciatingly painful moment in time to come. standing and being there, yet not quite.
before long, it had become past. before one could blink, breathe in a different air, and take in all the peculiar sights and sounds. before one could even register, let alone remember, where the starting point of that reverie was.
before long, it had become past. before one could blink, breathe in a different air, and take in all the peculiar sights and sounds. before one could even register, let alone remember, where the starting point of that reverie was.
the wheels of the bus go round and round yet again…
only this time, in the direction where it first came from...
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