Bus Ride

A bus ride observation

Bus Ride

When I walked on I noticed him staring, but that's what people do so I didn't think much of it. He was an average looking boy, handsome but with a sense of quiet nature.

I looked up and notice him holding a bracelet in his hand. His fingers traced its curves with a gentle caress, as though searching for the memories that lay hidden inside. Outlining the hieroglyphics that may hold the key, the answer, the truth.

Suddenly I am taken into his world and am searching with him. What happened to the wrist who's hang kept that band from slipping away. Perhaps she looks like me. Perhaps I brought back some memory of love that stabbed him in the chest.

Or maybe that storyline is wrong and it has been sitting in his pocket waiting for un muñeca to call home. And as I walked upon this bus he thought for a moment that perhaps it could belong to me.

But most likely. It is nothing. Just his own wrist band that he slipped off for a moment and instead it was me searching for the story beneath trivial objects. Either way I was transported somewhere new and wondrous for a few minutes. And I thank him for that.

Reviews

[LastMonth]

When you write a story, there are several types of writings.
The two main ones, in my humble opinion is;

Write for yourself. A journal. A secret poem. Just letting your feelings go.
Write for others. Trying to make it entertaining. Trying to make it enjoyble to someone else.

Good writers..? I think they mix the two without even trying.

You wrote about nothing specific.
The mundane thoughts of a girl while travelling on a public bus. Yet I found it interesting. There was no climax, no resolution, no catharsis. Just thoughts.

But perhaps that was the point of the story. There's something beautiful about simplicity. And sometimes less is more. A beautiful mind indeed.

You gave me a nice read, one that made me smile. And I thank you for that.