I often think although I have been alone for nine years, I wasn’t always alone. Therefore, I am not lonely. Family and friends, and my own sense of self would not allow. Too many things to do, too many people to do the things with, and New York City, a city of places and things, so lonely is not allowed in my thought process. If I wanted to spend my days remembering, I do have so much that is wonderful to remember. A Russian proverb addresses that for me. “Longing for the past, is like chasing after the wind.” So lonely and longing are out. Observing is not out though, and when I’m on the bus, and the lighting is not exactly candlelight, “they” don’t look so good. I observe, and what I see is sadness. There’s just a look I can’t fully explain, but If you take the time, you will see them as well. The people on the bus represent realism at its most real. Why are there so many lonely people in this world? The Beatles sang about them. The people on the bus have a lost look; an untouched, unloved, lonely stare. I adore fantasy, hope, dreams, and lovely thoughts. They sustain me, the majority of the time and help the psyche. If I didn’t think I would be thought of as marginally insane, I for a moment, thought of asking all the people on the bus if they wanted to meet all the other people on the bus. We could have one big party. I decided against that idea. Maybe it’s the changing of the clocks, and being a dreary day gone dark so early that made me observe the lonely people on the bus.