I see you. Even when you think I don’t. I hear your jokes and conspiracy’s about the world. Sometimes I even let out a chuckle at the sarcastic things you say. I see when you lean down to fix your hair in the mirror, you always missed that one curl. I seen when you got your first boyfriend and when you had your first breakup. Ive seen your highest of highs and lowest of lows. I see you. Even if you don’t see me I see you.

You try to fit in were you don’t belong. You hold on to your dying friendships a little too long. You have a heart of gold and a mouth of steel.

Ive watched you grow up for years. But this one seems a little different. Your words and short and quick like a bullet. Your eyes full of a depth never once reached. And your mouth doesn’t seem to move unless spoken to.

Maybe its just a phase. Or a facade. But whatever it is I see it. On you and the rest of the faces of bus 121. Each year they’re drained of their youth a little bit more, but this year, it has sucked them dry.

Even though I see everything, I say nothing. I try to fine a nice line between what is and isn’t my business. I help as much as I can with a “good morning” and a nice warm smile, but nothing more. Because I am too, drained of my youth and respect.

I was once that young girl with a head full of curly hair and a dream. A dream to be more than what I was shown, to be more than what Ive always known. But, dreams end, and you wake to an empty house and bills you can barley afford to pay.

Dreams are only dreams to people like me. But her, she was different. When I would look into her hurt filled eyes I didn’t see a dreamer, I saw an inventor. An inventor of her own happiness and sorrow. Even though her smile was never full and the lines around her mouth came from a cigarette, she was never really sad. Just hurt, and tired. And that doesn’t make you sad, just makes you hurt and tired. The one thing I could relate too. So tired, yet so young.