Everything seems rustic in the mellow rain, the people move slower and you get a chance to accustom yourself to the newly budded cherry blossoms beside your dorm. You awaken from your nap to the sound of car tires splashing in the puddles nestled close to the concrete pavement, and smile to yourself as you reconsider that pair of suede moccasins and opt for the rain boots instead. The warm rain has returned, it fell close beside the fountain on campus and pattered heavily on the bus stop awning. You already know what you'll listen to on the way to class. That Velvet Underground song you've loved since it played in the beginning of Adventureland— "Here She Comes Now," was it? Or, how about that old Regina Spektor album that hurtles you so far back to your past? Back to when you were just discovering music and everything it had to illustrate, from the yawning synths to the explicit lyrics. You wipe back the sweat beaded on your forehead as you reminisce being warm under the sheets of your bed. The alarm clock is clanging noisily to awaken your mind from a restless dream. The sky beckons you to come outside, and you welcome the invitation with a full and amorous gaze towards the clouds.
You stand facing him, a person you don't know very well. The environment shifts and turns every which way, the rain splattering on the glass window behind him. His sweatshirt shouts "CAPE MAY" in your face and you try your hardest to limit the close physical contact with a complete stranger on public transportation. The soles of his shoes are yellow, you notice. His auburn hair stands awkwarly shaped as a way to surrender to the humid weather. You then avert your eyes to a more private part of his body. Fuck. Why did you do that? Why do you always do that? With no reason found in your mind, you balance yourself cooly and collectedly with the movement of the bus, now playing stare hockey with the girl sitting across from you in a seat, a smile creeping her lips as she watches you struggle to keep yourself upright.
That bus ride went like many of the others. You gaze from afar most of the time, but this happenstance seemed too close for comfort. The victims of your speculation are usually male, sometimes even female if they intrigue you enough. It's never a sexual feeling (at least not always), it's usually one of pure adornment. Of a wonder, essentially. You like to imagine what they do in their spare time, what kind of breakfast foods they like, where they used to run away when they were scared. It's all a game in your mind, yet you love it.
You await tomorrow.
