Night bus.
London looks honest from the top deck of a night bus.
The city with its make-up off.
Chicken shop light. A man asleep against the window. Two girls sharing one pair of headphones and one dramatic story. Someone's heels in their hand.
Everyone on that bus has had a night. Some good, some unforgivable, most somewhere in between.
Nobody performs at 2am. There's nothing left to perform with.
And there's something comforting in it: a whole bus of people quietly going home to whoever they are when nobody's watching.
You lean your head against the glass.
You think: I like her. The one in the reflection.
Even now. Especially now.
~TCOTBH
Heartbreak Looks Different On Us.