Forward Motion.

There was no where else, I promise. I searched and scouted but you were my last choice. I’m not happy about it either trust me. 

I begrudgingly sat next to you, a stranger, on the bus. 

You, a male, of no more than my age. We didn't choose this outcome but I want to make it as painless as possible. 

I sit right on the edge, not wanting to bother you as I know my sudden intrusion into your life must seem oh so offensive. 

I’m uncomfortable, you can see that. My right leg obstructing the passage to the back of the bus, I have to tuck it in to let the other passengers through. 

I’m not happy about this, but I am trying. 

And there you sit. Unflinching. Uncaring. Unapologetic.


Texting away on your abhorrently massive Samsung. Generically branded earphones shoved into your head. I can hear the trash you’re listening to, like something that belongs in an underage nightclub.  

You don't even flinch. Your cheap, knockoff Burberry trench coat that is too big for your frame taking up more space than anything on your body should. 

Your Tommy H satchel sat casually where my left butt cheeky should naturally be. I know Tommy is a diva but he doesn't need his own seat. 

Your legs splayed open, knees touching the seat in front of us in what is surely a display of both masculinity and pretend indifference to the happenings of the bus. The appendage between your legs most definitely doesn't need all that space.

Your feet clad in supposed Italian leather don't even shuffle away from me. They make no effort to join together, not even in a mild attempt at feigning consideration. 

I look at you through my peripheral. 

Already revolted by the aura that you emanate I can only imagine the ugliness your face beholds, and I am not disappointed. 

Your half assed attempts at beard growth only accentuate the grotesque acne that riddles your face. At least the little sprigs of hair have company. 

That washed out blond flash of hair that adorns your surely underdeveloped brain incapable of outward consideration makes you look like Deryck Whibley’s unsuccessful, wannabe little brother. 

Want me to go on? 

The woman sitting diagonally from us is your saving grace, and mine as well. She vacates the bus leaving her seat empty and I dash to make it mine. 

I make the effort to not look at you again, so here is where I stop. Here is where you turn into a rock in my shoe. The worm in my apple. 

But above all the most awful outcome of this interaction is that I know you have not even noticed. You haven't learned a thing nor have you changed your outlook. You have stayed in your small world and small mind, thinking that you have done nothing wrong. You think you are innocent, that you haven't just made this journey all the more painful and uncomfortable. You have not moved forward and the worst realisation is: I’m certain this is not the first or the last time this will happen. 


ThoughtsElena Luna