The Bus Stop

It was always empty,
At the bus stop,
Even the bus never bother to stop,
It was always empty,
Surrounded with stubborn bushes,
Making it their own place,
Even worse,
Sending shivers to the people,
Assuming it was once a haunted place.

But here i am,
At the always empty bus stop,
Sitting and waiting,
Not for the bus to come,
Something that only i know what to wait,
Ever since then and on,
It was me who make it like home,
Pulling all the weeds and grass,
And just waiting patiently,
While one by one people dare to stop by.

There's a stall beside it,
Out of nowhere they decided to sell drinks and fruit there,
As always they ask me who i wait for,
I can only smile and drink the coffee that i bought,
One by on the car, truck and even motorcycle stop,
Buying drink and fruit,
When it rains the riding one take shelter,
Some sweet couple were shivering cold,
Some old one stares out the sky,
Some were just wearing the rain coat before move on,
It was once an empty bus stop,
Now it was always full of people,
That's when i stop visiting there and just keep observing from far.