waiting for you is like waiting for a bus. sometimes its late, sometimes its early- somehow its never quite on time. waiting for you is like waiting for a bus, you’re filled with strangers and people and stories and secrets and things i’ll sit really close to but never really know. i watch other buses stop for me and come and i let them go- they can take me where i need to be, but none of them are the ones I really want. but you’re never on time. i never liked waiting, but i wait when the sky is smeared with pastels and the wind kisses me good morning. i wait when the sun stalls on the horizon, waiting for me until it cant wait anymore. i suppose i could just get up and walk, but theres a certain promise in waiting that keeps me at the bus stop. timing is everything, isnt it?