Drops race down glass, a silent race,
whispers of journeys left untold.
Bus hums a familiar tune,
passengers lost in their own worlds,
the foggy window a canvas of dreams.

Gaze through the misty pane,
seek meaning in the scattered rain.
Hands clutch a warm, clear glass,
condensation trickles down,
fingers trace patterns of forgotten days.

Thoughts drift with the passing scenery,
the road stretches into the unknown.
Clouds gather, heavy yet distant,
memories dance in the rearview,
only echoes of what once was remain.