cullin hill

I take a deep breath on Cullin Hill.

The sun is setting after the rain and the horizon is an explosion of color like red and pink rose pedals have stirred out of some great sleep and waited for this day to cover us. I’m sitting at the top of the hill at a bus stop reading and looking at the puddles and how the pink and red light refracts in the water and makes shimmering waves on the building behind me. The cars drive by through the water and the sound reverberates through the streets like a wave breaking on air itself. A bus pulls up, but it’s not mine and I go back to reading. Something pulls my head, though, like a puppet and I look up and I see you there in the window on the bus. You have your headphones in and you’re staring at the headrest in front of you and you look tired. I don’t make a motion, I don’t do anything, I just sit and watch and, like I did, you turn and see me and turn red. You put your hand over your mouth and with your eyes wide and you touch your finger tips to the window. You drop the hand from your mouth and smile big and I smile back and tears form in your eye lids and drop down your face like little streams searching for their ocean. We stay like this for infinity. You shake your head and laugh and I smile and chuckle and as the bus’s clutch pops and begins to roll your face turns to terror and as it moves down the hill you stand up and turn around to keep your eyes on me and I stand too and you have your hand raised, reaching to me over the seats behind you and I raise mine. The bus goes off the terrace and out of sight under the curve of the hill and into the sun. I stand still, waiting for the moment to come back like the departure was a joke.

My bus goes by and the sun’s final arc settles down into the horizon and the red and pink dies out and a dark blue replaces it. People walk around me like they all together vanished for our brief meeting and are now back to their life and I feel lonelier than before.

I stand still and take a deep breath on Cullin Hill.