Condensation forms on the window pane,
My hair becomes damp, as I lean, getting tired,
The sound is faint, but I can hear the rain,
Splattering on the road, soaking the tyres.
The bus rolls on, the engine hums,
In my hand is a book, yet to turn a page,
I see a baby asleep in his mother’s arms,
An elderly couple hold hands, wrinkled with age.
I am too distracted to read, my mind on other things,
I look back on my mistake, or was it right?
I have left my true love behind, it stings,
At the end of my tunnel, is there a light?
My heart is ...