Wednesday, 11 May 2011
That afternoon I'm back home. I cannot get the image out of my mind: the think glasses, the stocky legs. Irrationally I return to the bus stop; hoping they're there. I fantasise about them being there, about the possibility of destiny. “I'll believe in God if they're there,” I repeat to myself, not believing it. “I'll believe in God if they're there.”
There not, of course they're not. I can see this from a distance, and still I walk passed the stop just to make sure.
The memory lingers. Then fades. There is no destiny.