18.11.18

The cold bit at my feet. By the time I got home I wasn’t going to have any toes left.

I looked back up at the bus timetable. Still 12 minutes, 12 more minutes of standing alone at a bus stop, music and entertainment free, in the middle of winter. Minus temperatures. This was the worst day of my life.

All I wanted to do was cry. But there was no use crying over spilt milk.

I had to suck it up, I had experienced was worse than this. This was nothing.

I looked back up. Still 12 minutes. I felt the anger bubble up inside of me. No this was wrong it had to be wrong. It had been saying 12 minutes for the last 3 minutes. Something wasn’t right here.

All I wanted to do was go home. Curl up in front of the telly with a takeaway and a fizzy drink. But instead I was stuck outside suffering, waiting for a bus in that seemed like it was never actually going to come.

You couldn’t write this shit.

Just when I had given up all hope, my cheeks and nose red from the cold and crying, I caught a haze of red in my bloodshot eyes.

A trickle of celebration ran through me, but I was too frozen to allow the physical reactions to manifest in my body.

This must’ve been what happiness was. Because right now, I don’t think I could’ve been anything else.

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