The bus is not your living room. There are strangers here who want to be submerged in their own dramas. Yours are loud and one sided. Poorly edited with too much of a slant. Yet I hear it, your voice holds the pain that your heart wants not to hide. No amount of dirty talking on your satellite device surrounded by strangers can hide that. Try telling her how you feel. Describe the expansion of your nerves. Describe the pumping of your blood. Describe the creases in your heart. Describe the weight that’s falling from your tongue.
Jess Hill 
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