sickeningly sweet
home for my weary bones[CONTENTID1] sickeningly sweet [/CONTENTID1]
[CONTENTID2]Wordcount: 879
The bus is relatively empty save for a few passengers scattered around, sitting on slightly tattered leather seats the color of fake mahogany wood. No one is paying anyone any attention and so he slips into an empty seat unnoticed, positioning himself by the window and staring out into the less than spectacular view of suburban homes as the bus groans into motion.
The smell of coffee and cigarettes has ingrained itself into the walls of the bus and into the decaying seats, leaking out from its hiding spot and into his nostrils with every breath he takes. He almost retches, diligently keeping his eyes trained outside as the wind whips against his face, tousling his hair into a disheveled mess of black locks infused with sweat.
He thinks about playing some music, patting his pockets to locate the small music player that his mother had given him for his 15th birthday. He had kept the little thing in pristine condition over the years that passed, treating it like an escape from his mundane and often boisterous commute from his house to work.
Today, he’s not going to the little office situated at the heart of his hometown, but he still slips his earphones on and plays a random song up to the highest volume, letting the words try in vain to lull his mind into a placid state.
Spin me 'round again and rub my eyes.
The bus eases into a stop, picking up more passengers in its rumbling standstill before continuing on its journey. Someone sits behind him just as he sees a blonde head crossing the streets, making his heart seize and his throat constrict. He keeps looking at it, his eyes following the person bearing an obscenely striking similarity to his peculiar lover, well after the stranger is out sight.
When busy streets amass with people would stop to hold their heads heavy.
The moment passes, allowing his heart to slow down from the insane and erratic pace that it had taken on during h
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