the bus pulls in, then stops. its door slides open and it unloads. he, along with everyone else, shuffles off. the sun was just beginning to rise causing the sky to turn a vivid red color. the color of love. the color of hate. the color of blood. the color of pure emotion.
he arrived at his usual spot. the hall was strangely full this morning, of all the other students. he sat there trying to read, glancing up occasionally to see who was there and then looking back down at his book. escaping the world of reality and reentering the world of fiction. the world which is created by one’s own mind and rests with all other thoughts and memories. thoughts and memories that can be stirred by the slightest scent, the slightest gesture, the slightest glance.
he glanced up again and saw someone. memories flooded back to his mind. he remembered when they had been so much more. and then that had just faded. he looked over and saw someone else. he thought of how they had been through so much together and how much they had grown together and then split apart it seemed. he remembered how much he loved her and how he feels now. someone coming down from the hall. someone who he was so close to, who he’d known for so long and so well. he looked around and saw everyone sitting in the hall and thought to himself how everyone had their own life, how everyone had their own story. they all had their own future, their own present, and their own past. they all had their own memories.
he returned to his book and the world of fiction that rests in our mind thinking to himself one thing:
it’s amazing how so much of life is made up of reflecting on the past. whether it be browsing old photo albums, watching old home videos, talking about old times with friends, or just thinking about past events. maybe we’ve done something in the past that we regret and we think about ways that we could have gone about it differently. but, the fact remains that we can’t change the past, so why do we continue to brood?