With you, it’s always been a matter of time, a doomed countdown. The bus is doing its day job of melting people onto their white collars. I put on a different pair of glasses, hoping it’ll shake my brain hard enough to make every little piece of you fall out. At last. Two little girls are telling each other’s secrets in the seat in front of me. Soon-to-be heartbreakers. “He’s big but he’s crying,” they say about me. They look a bit like you as I stare directly into the eyes of what you and I will never have.