No one respects the yellow priority seating.
There were four. One faking sleep, the other probably truly sleeping.
I stood next to the back chairs, and the bus was full.
A couple of elderly people got in and it looked and felt familiar, you know, the way they acted.
Standing next to the front yellow seats, she right against an occupied chair, he holding the pole with one arm and between her and the corridor.
A shield, a protector.
It made me pause and look fondly.
Missing and yearning.
I've been in this position many times
I got so distracted by it that I missed a vacant chair, she did too, but not him.
He held her hand and parted the sea of people with his presence, she walking behind, practically hiding from the people. A knight and his ward.
He guided her lovingly to the empty space and stood next to her, hands held, smiles shared.
Someone on the chair I was next to got up, I sat down.
I still get distracted by what I saw.
A mirror.
From outside it looks as loving as from the inside.
And I'm not one to hope. Never was. Don't think I've got that in me
But
It grew for a moment before I stomped it to death again
A wish, delicate as it should be
That one day someone writes about us exactly like I'm writing about the elderly couple in the bus.
