On the dignity of showing up at a bus stop that no longer exists

I spent the afternoon at a decommissioned bus stop on the edge of town. No shelter, no sign, just a worn patch of asphalt where the route used to turn. I sat there for an hour, not because I expected a bus, but because I wanted to be present at a place that still waits for something that will never come. It felt like a kind of proof — that showing up is its own meaning, even when nothing arrives.