I asked the man who drove the bus. To let me off at Maple Avenue. He looked at me through puzzled eyes. And said, "You don't live around here, do you?".
Because the light always finds the darkest corner. And the raindrop always will rise to the clouds on high. And the red leaf falls back down to the garden.
Caught myself worrying again today. Seems like it's always something, something I can't change. I'm either looking back, haunted by regret. Or finding trouble with tomorrow that hasn't even happened yet.