An anticipated journey bought with a ticket of hope…
Faces wearing lines of worry; others with imageries of their destinations sewn as pockets of smiles on their faces.
As for me, the smell of liquid supply retches my internals to a state of emesis.
Nothing about the bus park enthuses me … be it a journey of a few stone throws.
The bus driver sits on his chosen chair; with a feeling of hereditary right to ride us to our terminus.
The bus park spells many a churning feelings to me … the sights I am never brave enough to see as my tummy grumbles like they are tied to my intestines.
People like myself pray for an end to a journey only about to begin.
I’m sorry if it isn’t what you expect, but this is what I feel!