Waiting

bus_stop

Solitary, she stands
behind memories long forgotten
as the aging white shows in winter,
when flakes fall as petals.
 
Dusk settles in for the night,
and light reflects off the deserted plains;
the road to the future abandoned,
I close makeshift arms around me
to block out unbidden pain.
 
The clear skies lie when they
say they reflect the world;
forgotten benches mourn as
marks only cut deeper when 
the world reminisces;
 
silently waiting for the bus to come.
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