I was sitting on the bus,
Contemplating the extent of misery,
Sitting in the dark,
Waiting, with these others, 
Waiting to go home,
And as I was joggled,
And my thoughts were sifted,
I turned to look outside,
But I could see little more than my reflection,
I'd been frightened you know,
As I always am waiting for the bus at night,
With guys leering and yelling,
And honking from their beat-up cars,
More aware than ever as I sat there in my heels, designer
jeans, and scoop necked top,
With blonde hair pulled back from my face,
That I was an object of appreciation,
But only that - an object,
So I focused on seeing past that reflection,
Which is when I saw him,
Him, he told me how he felt but I didn't want to jeapordise
our friendship,
I didn't realise at the time that by doing that I was
destroying our friendship anyway,
And him, he drifted away, hurt,
But there he was,
Holding hands with some emo girl,
Walking through the darkness with her,
And I realised that sometimes,
There is an infinity inside the head,
Of an object.