of fumes
the bus rolls away,
leaving the terminal.
i'm
in my seat,
wiping the fog from
the window
with the ball of fist.
i'm settled in
with my bag above
me, and offer
a limp wave.
i see you on the platform
an umbrella
spread open
deflecting the hard rain.
i won't be
back.
we both know that.
but strangely it's all okay.
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