Insignificant

I assert my place in the queue, I want a seat. The handsome young Arab, or Indian, but just plain beautiful, man passes by. A kid has lost his bag on a previous bus. The driver helps. The moments tick by, I begin to feel a little annoyed. The woman beside me vents irritation, just beneath her breath. I close my eyes. The voices of a young couple, pleasant and in a foreign tongue, reach my ears. Someone is wearing a Eucalyptus scent, schoolgirls share a recipe for deep fried Mars Bars, and I am alive. At this moment I am living. There will be many moments when I am not alive, but in these few moments I am. I open my eyes. The driver gives the school boy a number for lost property. The bus starts and pulls out of the cement and metal structure. Before we enter the tunnel, I realise those remembered moments have passed for always.