Yesterday, I saw her standing near the rear door. Among people entering and exiting the cramped bus, you were special. Not because the red coat you wore or some orange bunny keychain you hung on your bags.

You held tears for the entire ride. You’ve tried to hide all those emotion with a red and blue shade around your face. But you couldn’t hide the wrinkles around your forehead, or the gasp you held once in a while.

We got off on the same buss stop. It started to rain and you didn’t bring any umbrella. I handed you mine, patted your shoulder, and said, “Everything is going to get better.”

We might not meet again. Name, reasons, decisions, stories. I’ll never know yours, and you’ll never know mine.

So, you’ve got moves like Kelly sister.
Voices like Roxie.
Swaying like Billy.
You’ve watched Pulp Fiction, and this is not the time anymore.
You should channel your inner Linklater and gone off those train trip somewhere.
Somewhere far, somewhere bright, somewhere purple-ish and pastel-ish.

Oh, you’ve been there.
Higher than the stratosphere.
Further than the glacier.

You’ve got the gear and you’ve got the lightning.
You speak in unison to the whole universe.
You’re witty and I’ve got your messages.
You’re not trying to be plastic.
And I know you’ll be the one, shimmering with light and laser. Smoke and fire.

Hang in there, little lover.
Stay in there, lover dove.

I know you’ll get in trouble one day.
But you’ve got moves like Kelly sister.
And you’ll be conquering the ground.
With those tables and numbers. Reports and papers.

But, you’ve been there.
Higher than the stratosphere.
Further than the glacier.
You will be alright.

There is a circus parade across town.
A place you’ll never forget.
Experience you’ll find nowhere else.
A cannonball that blasts people.
An arrow shoots to the heart.
A clown freak that juggles glass ball.
Animals play with fire.

Doesn’t it happen all the time?
Doesn’t it happen to all of us?

There is a circus parade across town.
Alluring. Breathtaking. Liberating.
You refuse to be there. Yet you’re already there.
Taking pictures and clapping side by side.

Multicolored mist, all that illusion.
Black will never suits you.
Someday we’re going to wake up, from those soap operas and the butchery.
Someday we’re going to wake up, and switch off the TV.
We put back the arrows right where it belongs.
To the head that deserves that.

I’ve got this friend.
He’s gone through all bad shit and never was his mistake.
He falls for a girl who’s never found love.
Only to find pieces of boring conversation and the agony.

He’s a real life version of Mr. Pinkman.
Without the gun, and without the fun.

He’s gone to therapist but never found any.
He’s singing 505 to the horizon, don’t tell any.
Trying to take back his throne.
Someday at midnight silence, maybe he’ll get one.
He’ll toast the champagne, and you’ll throw him the sunshine.
If that is happiness, you want him to have it.
Just one last ride to that sunset.
If that is happiness, you want him to have it.
Just one last ride to that cliché.

He’s a real life version of Mr. Pinkman.
Without the gun, and without the fun.

Looking back, we couldn’t be more obvious. You, with that coffee and me with the paper. We should do more dancing that night. But I said it’s getting late and I had a pile of more paper to shred.

I thought you will stop me for taking the taxi, but you didn’t. You waved with those eyes. Those eyes that I couldn’t get off from mind.

You texted me later that night, asking me if I was available for Friday night. That was Saturday, and you’re already asked for next week agenda. But you said there will be this cool band performing and that was your favorite Indie band. I couldn’t care more, I was busy shredding the paper. I said yes anyway and hit send.

I thought the conversation would be over but you’re still bug me with lot of questions, like could I stop myself for shredding the paper. I said I couldn’t and you didn’t care. Like how I didn’t care when you send me a photo of your collection of soda bottle caps. You said you’ve been collecting it since 4^th grade and I still couldn’t care more.

Many nights after, you still kept talking and I still stuck with those papers. Until I realized I really couldn’t get off of those eyes. You asked me whether you could come to accompany me shredding the paper. I mentioned a coffee shop near the 4th lanes, a delicious lava cake and a cup of coffee compliment for those coming after 9 PM. You picked me up and parked your bicycle at my house. You, out of nowhere, held my hand for the entire walk. And I let you.

We couldn’t be more obvious.

But we kept pretending that we didn’t know. Even after long conversation until 4 in the morning, even after that concert at Friday night, a dinner after and a movie the following night. Until one night after long walk at the center park you said you couldn’t get off the image of me shredding the paper. And I said I couldn’t get off of your eyes.

We agreed not to give it a name. We agreed we don’t have much time left. That day, we know we couldn’t last a day without each other. Many years after, I know it would be great to attend this melancholic concert. Your favorite band is jamming on stage, you held my hand for hours, and we know we’ll be attending some more years later.

That is why I said yes when you asked to accompany me to shred paper, for the rest of your life. And I let you.