For a Start

The long ride home could have been that was alone,
I was hoping that you were along the corner and saw that she left
That there is a space and there is no one else I would want to sit with me
Other than you, and spend hours just talking. Idly, as I look out the window
and you keep an earphone on one side.

And our eyes will meet for but a few moments when it gets to the personal part
where you confess, that you were that guy who asked every girl to dance
but ended up alone in one room with nobody in your arms.

Where you confess the lonely tables and the empty chairs during lunch times,
the childhoods spent inside the house playing video games
And how you were given a planetarium, chemistry books, robots, and toy cars,
but you were always alone with all these stuff.

How you would cringe at the thought of the depth of your admissions,
and how at the back of your mind you are afraid that I would pity you
But you share them anyway. Lay your cards on the table as the bus whizzes through the night traffic and busy commuters and city street lights.

Beside me, underneath a cold air conditioning,
somehow it was warm and somehow even though we said we wanted to sleep through the travel, we ended up talking the whole ride home.
About your favorite music and your deep-seated issues

And everyone says you are so undesirable because of them -- your scars
that are somehow out in the open but have never healed at all.
Everybody wants to change you, and at one point, I did, too.
To solve your puzzle and uncover your mystery and simplify your complications
and to see you finally emerge -- cleaned and sensitized and easy to understand

But somehow despite your ambiguities confusing me,
they are still the best companions that I will always look forward to.
I long to listen to them over and over again, if that is the only means to know you
And I know that the pit is bottomless and I don't know how they will end --
if the winding and broken paths to your soul ever will --
but somehow, with curiosity and with the light of care,
I wanted to fall on it. On you. On your darkness and weirdness and fuzzy details
because somehow it reminds me of the times when strangeness was my only friend and the only way I could ever be myself.

And I could be myself, and you also probe around my rounded square corners
without hesitation or analysis or even a conclusion.
Maybe we're are not meant to solve anything, what's going on within us and between us.
Maybe the discoveries will never end, and that will be fine. That way
you will always have a reason to sit beside me on long bus ride evenings.
Like you just did that night.