The Sad Hand

I really thought it was you
Stood by the bus stop
My bus stop
This morning

I didn't once consider that it would be bloody strange
For you to be there
At my bus stop

The heart doesn't work like that
The brain
Ruled by the heart
Doesn't think like that
And most certainly
Does not let the eyes see like that

So
I thought it was you
And my heart was in my throat
In my eyes
And then I didn't want to see
Couldn't see
Just in case

Panic
What will I do?
What will I say?
Will I smile?
Make conversation?

No
I look away and walk past you
Head turned
Looking for the bus
Where is the bus?
So you only get the back of my head

And inside I hurt
Because you don't recognise me
The back of my head
Because you don't say hi
And I wish so much that you would
And I'm back at square one

That feeling
That wishing
That hoping
That you would call
Message
Want to see me
Show you like me
Give a fuck whether I exist or not

The bus comes
Finally
Enough standing around

I walk to the door
I turn
I have to be sure

It's not you
Of course it isn't
As if it ever was
The levels of stupid I feel right now
Overwhelming
Kind of like what people washed away by a tsunami must feel
Just before they drown

I sit down on the bus
Look out the window
At the person that isn't you
And the sad hand wraps itself firmly around my heart
Again

Just when I think I've beaten it
Have perhaps run it out of me
Maybe I'm stronger than the sad hand now?

It comes back
And all it takes
Is a person who isn't even you