Looking around at all the people.
Saw this middle aged man on my right,
blue office shirt, black pants with his Samsung galaxy phone, wet combed hair-
or whatever was left of his hair.
I wondered what his story was,
where we came from, his childhood, how he looked like as a little boy, whether he likes his blue and black attired job.
And then suddenly I thought,
everyone is made up of stories.
Everyone on this bus holds so many stories and memories.
The best moments of their lives,
and their worst.
Their first love, their first kiss.
We're all on the bus of life. We all get on, people leave, just that
some stay longer than others.
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