ramblings and things

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Just Talking On The 'Bus

Maybe she thought she knew me:
I returned her smile, as you do.
She took the seat alongside,
chatted the journey through.
She got off at my stop
at the end of our ride,
walked down the street
still chatting by my side.

I said a good bye
as we arrived at my door:
she said a goodbye too
but I think she'd wanted more.
I looked out from a bedroom window
saw her standing there on the street:
I quickly closed the thick curtains
making sure our eyes didn't meet.

That night was bitterly cold.
It  wasn't that I didn't care,
and wrapped up warm in bed
I'd wondered if she was there.
A case of mistaken identity for sure,
a response to a friendly face,
but I'd been rather perturbed to see her
outside my home, my personal space.

I never saw her again:
often wondered why
she'd stood across the street
after we'd said our goodbye.
Maybe she was sad and alone?
Maybe she just needed a friend.
Did she truly think she knew me?
Was  that  chat just a means to an end?








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Just Talking On The `Bus