Object

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.