I remember the girl on the bus in San Francisco. She had loud curly hair that appeared to weigh tons but didn't faze her the slightest. She knew the man near her and got off at a walgreens. To this day I wonder what she did for a living;

I wonder how she went on living.

I thought she was beautiful. Strangely beautiful in a big city way.

The man she spoke to seemed cocky to me, a well made up man with a perfected facade. He had to be the way he was, to make it in that swallowing hole of a city. It engulfs you, your screams will go unnoticed in its vast space; or lack there of.

Another women on the bus was a mother. Her wealth was not flashy although she was comfortable. Or so her words made it seem to me. She seemed to have a well established home. She carefully watched me, and I carefully watched back.

These people are forever burned into my memory. I felt like such a kid beside them, such an unestablished being. My purpose not yet found.

Today they go about their lives in the city of San Francisco I assume. Chores and beauty, mothers beside cocky surviving men.

Established vs. struggling

I am not yet sure where I fit in in the mix. I know who I am now, and who I long to be later. Knowing dreams does not establish a being, though.

or does it?