EVERYTIME.

Everytime the bus stops, I'm hoping, still hoping that I'd see you again. Walking on the isle, turning your head—looking for an empty seat. And I would greet you, like what I should have done before.

Everytime the bus stops, I'm expecting that I'd see your face again—carrying that innocent look, would turn your head on me—sitting at the back part of the bus where you liked the most.

Everytime the bus stops, I always look at its door, hoping to see you again because it's almost a year since I saw your face. Praying that you'll see me sitting, having my earphones on.

Everytime the bus stops, I'm wishing that you'd sit beside me. We will start questioning our how are you's, talking, laughing, until we're already on our destination.

Everytime the bus stops, I'd question myself: are you avoiding me? 'Cause it seems like you are. Or is it just me who assumes that you already saw me and you just pretended that you didn't?

Everytime the bus stops, I'd hope you'd see me sitting on the front seat. You'd see me smiling at you. You'd see me looking at you just like how you looked at her before.

Everytime the bus stops, I'm hoping that I'd have the courage to say it to you. To say what I should have said to you long before.

Everytime the bus stops, I'm hoping that it's the day. The day that I have prayed for a long time. The day when I am going to talk to you again.

-M