Standing on the bus, I finding myself weeping
Without control. Solicitous old ladies, leaping
Shakily to their feet, offer me their seats,
Along with tissues and mints, as the streets

Blur past through rain smeared windows.
I feel like one of those scary weirdos
I used to edge away from, despising their
Twitching features and unkempt hair.

I dab at my eyes, despising my overt
Weakness. Why did you choose now to insert
Yourself into that empty hole which once we shared
Where once we danced, our twin souls bared

But which now just burns
Whenever memory returns.