[ IP ] Write a short story or poem around one of these lesser known words for emotions we feel but did n't know existed .

The bus pulled in to the bus station. 
 
 The lady in the red coat. Brown rucksack slung over one shoulder. Shoes that were once black. Glasses. Silver hair. I could see her from the bus window. I wondered how long she'd had her shoes. Had she bought them at Clarkes or Diechmanns. Or neither. Why did she wear them today. Had she dyed her hair. Probably. How long had it been that colour. Why that colour. I wondered if she realised I was looking at her. Was red her favourite colour. How old was she. Why was she outside today. I had n't seen her before. But then I caught the bus at 14:47 today. Yesterday it had been 14:32. Maybe she was late. Late for what. Or maybe she'd never stood in that stop before. I wondered if she saw me would I feature in her mind. Would she realise she saw me. Or would I be another face. Would I appear in one of her dreams. As a stranger on a street. Or with one of her friends heads on my body. That familiar unfamilarness. Every face you see in your dreams are faces you've seen at some point in your life. Would she have a part in one of my dreams. I wondered if she could hear thoughts. If so, could she hear mine. Where was she going. Did she even belong to this town. Maybe she grew up down the road from me. Maybe she grew up in the town next door. Maybe her favourite band was the same as mine. Maybe we'd been at the same concert last month. Did she enjoy it like I did. She might hate music. Why would she hate music. Did she have borthers or sisters. Were her parents still alive. Was she still in contact with her family. Maybe's, if's, did's, was's about the lady swirled around in my head... 
 
 The bus engine started up again. 
 
 We pulled out of the bus stop and left behind the lady in the red coat. I still do n't know if she even noticed me as I'd noticed her. I wondered if my life was as invisible to her as hers to me. 
 
 Opposite, two small children were squabbling over their monther's outdated mobile phone, arguing over who got to play next. I began to wonder where their father was... work... home... prison... dead... with another woman... with another man... the questions and thoughts rotated around my head as I started to imagine all their memories as I had my own... Just as I'd done with the lady. The lady with the red coat.
