untitled, or 109

Remember that time we rode the bus hand, in hand, in hand,
it was the last time we would ever see one another in the same way.
We rode that bus from house to house waiting for the one with enough room
for life and school and space; yet, we found no such place to call our own.
We journeyed across thresholds, our minds on the precipice of wonder,
knowing fully that with each door opened, our thoughts would never been the same.
Your hands were larger than mine, sweatier too. But your eyes held
the same flashing wonder that I knew mine projected. It was the roaming
in your heart I did not see, the wonderlust that burned and smoldered in the dark depths,
sending synapses through your brain.