Double decker bus

Fuck.

I thought of you again just now.

I am on the bus, on the "best seats in the house" as a vibrant girl called them the other day.

As I look up from my premium seats with a 270 degree view of london from a humble second storey, you crossed my mind. Well, 'crossed' is a lie, because you came in but you haven't yet left.

The windscreen in front of me is quilted with a layer of warm breaths on the inside, and a marathon of rain droplets outside. Last time I was in a bus and I had these seats (though the left side ones), I was on the phone with you. I was even wearing the same jacket I am now.

I remember maniacally laughing with you on the phone, as both of us were in fits.. me slightly less elegant than yours. I forgot why I was laughing, but I knew I could not shut up. We were talking, we were laughing, we were ecstatic - we were in our own little bubble together despite the hundreds of kilometres distance between us. I did not care that I was laughing so loudly on a full bus - you did that, you made me that comfortable in my skin. As long as I laughed, and you were there, the whole world seemed fine and nothing could hurt me. Nothing could make me question myself.

Now even typing this feels like something I shouldn't do in public.