It was a blur. The soft buzzy light showering your face again in blue, the same as one year ago when the slightest form of touch is the most intimate, in your eyes there were my eyes and for once I felt like the vivid bus was heading somewhere I didn't care. It was different from last night, when your eyelashes lightly brushed against my cheeks and your lips were also blue but I could have sworn it went purple as you released your tongue from my carefree mouth. That moment I whispered your name with no care of anything else in the world. You are mine and I am yours. And the bus? The bus now exists in our telepathic dreams, a symbol of our connected souls.
Despite the nuisance, I admitted it was a friendly lip greeting, a collision of ambivalent atoms flashing before our own very eyes.
I hope the future will bring more of the blue light.
