Das Bus
The spring air was brisk,
wild conspiracies from the Uber driver,
arriving to our destination in Downtown Fresno,
the Catacomb Party.
We waited in line laughing for food,
teenage punks skating on parking garages,
Joyce Manor on the main stage,
distorted guitar riffs echoing through the night.
The photo booth was named Das Bus,
Unbothered by the props,
The cameras capturing our unadulterated joy,
was the night you become my love.
8 years have passed since,
our love has expired,
I stare at that photo,
yearning for Das Bus.
This was the night I asked my wife to be girlfriend. We were at a festival in Downtown Fresno called Catacomb Party. At the end of night there was a photo booth called Das Bus and we took some photos. After my wife and I split up, I would stare at the photos from the photo booth wishing to go back to that moment and relive that moment of falling in love.
Vic Evora
2aPhotos only capture the happy memories. Where was the camera when you broke up? Nice 👍 poem.