The differences are obvious. He in his black wool coat, tall, dark hair, standing, upright looking straight at me. Me sitting, starring out the window, with tears rolling down my face. The bus trundles along, "Berlin 24/7" is emblazoned across a billboard and I laugh through my tears of sorrowful jubilation.
There is no distance between us. The atoms making up my transition into tomorrow could be some of the very same atoms he holds in his gaze. We are all variations on a theme. Genomic expressions of similar differences.
For a few brief moments, I hold his gaze unapologetically. His stoicism a beautiful compliment to my memory laden feelings.
We pass over a bridge and it happens again, I stop seeing myself reflect back from the world. I flow into the beauty of a place so foreign to me it makes my limbic system thrum like a wild creature. Time seems to slow to a rate imperceptible, I cannot sense myself, instead I open. A bird sails across my view and for the space of a few heart beats, I am the working muscles of beating wings and the coasting elegance of flight. I can taste the cold sharpness of the air it breathes.
I pull myself back...I will get lost in this world. Lost is the wrong word...absorbed in the chaos of its variations. He is still looking at me, I wonder if he knows that I know he is just like me, that we are the same. Each overcome with the majesty and horrifying beauty of living historicities. I am bleeding time from tiny little ducts designed for the express purpose of washing away the vestiges of human pretense. My creatureliness reveals the truth of the boy/man/soul riding the waves of time.
His hands are delicate, pale fingers and well manicured nails. He exits the bus and I muse if I stand up and stroll after him...I wonder will he show me a different way.
The articulation of thought is a beacon. I have missed my opportunity. I am thinking again. I have become separate and so I turn my attention to the sound of the doors closing and the words so foreign and yet almost intelligible, like a conversation in another room. I listen for the shimmering of the sun through the leaves, the sound of the universe at play within my senses.
My mind thinks "you are not the thing itself" and I wonder where it is I will find the thread that weaves us all together next.