He waits at a bus stop,
watches the sun rise
over the concrete horizon,
the grey infused with fiery colors,
the cold city set aflame.
It is so beautiful,
a glorious declaration of day,
but he is so tired,
drained by insomnia
fueled by the thought of her.
He thinks of home,
his own place of belonging – her bed,
and wishes it wasn't so far,
that she had chosen to stay
instead of saying goodbye.
And he'll watch the sun rise
every morning a hundred times
before he chooses to wake up,
to rise in the sun's light,
and see that he's already home.
-Zero
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