The only time I want to write, is on the bus. There is something about being absolutely alone in a crowd which begs my mouth to speak. Like a cat called to come, I will be silent when asked to talk, it is only when speaking is impossible that I long to do it. Except when there is a person sitting beside me, especially if I know them.

I was waiting for the bus this morning, just simply excited to get on and write about the cold weather. However, this girl I know sat beside me, and I couldn't even bring myself to pull out my notebook. I did not want her reading over my shoulder. Most of my scraps are for my eyes only. I could not stand the judgment she might have placed upon my stream of conscience writing. And so, I have no poem about the cold I felt today, and hopefully I will never be that cold again.