Between the Stops

Morning sticks to the glass of the bus, Bitter coffee, like the news we must. Some stay quiet, some count the time, Some live between “later” and “now” — that’s fine. Two old ladies talk about weather and pressure, A guy in beats — not here, not in measure. The driver stares straight at the road, Like he knows what’s extra — no need to show. Traffic lights blink in crooked lines, The city drags its old-school rhymes. Everyone rides with their own quiet sound, Everyone’s a passenger for the round We’re riding between the stops, No clear addresses, no maps. Riding silently, no “for” or “against”, no gaps. We’re riding between the stops, No plans, no schemes, Some get off today, Some ride… to the extremes. mmm… yeah… On the screen — “Hey, you okay?” On the poles — loans, discounts display. The city breathes uneven, moving slow, Yet it holds its people like a story we know. Some came back, some never replied, Some wait for a simple “I’ll come by.” We’re not the ones who write history’s page, We’re the ones who reach the next stage. A stop — like a pause in a chat, Not the start, not the end of that. While doors haven’t opened yet, Everyone thinks their own mindset. We’re riding between the stops, No clear addresses, no maps. Riding silently, no “for” or “against”, no gaps. We’re riding between the stops, No plans, no schemes, Some get off today, Some ride… to the extremes. Someone without a ticket — as usual, Someone’s standing ‘cause they didn’t fit in. The city rides along with us, Everyone here has their own compromise. mmm… yeah… We’re riding between the stops, Time doesn’t ask, it just goes. While we move forward — the city flows. We’re riding between the stops, This isn’t running away, Just the road Shorter than the evening’s sway.