Dear Home,
Today, I went on the best bus ride I have ever had.
Upon entering, the tunes of 2018’s Top 50 Rap Songs followed me to my seat, reverberating off the few others whom I shared the ride with. The words of artists (who I have never really bothered to familiarize myself with) followed along with the steady tempo of the bus rocking over Ann Arbor’s busy potholes. The day is cold. Yet, the sun is still shining. Reflecting off of the green leaves who are turning marigold with its touch.
During the ride, I quickly made the acquaintance of a small bee. It asked for the time, landing on my watch repeatedly. It must be in a rush, I declared. The bee, proceeding to land on my knee, nose, and shoulder, asked if I was its mother. Making me responsible for dropping it off at kindergarten on time. Imagining its peers, teachers, and classroom, the bee’s stripes lingered with me for a few stops. And almost as soon as it arrived, the bee left. And, I was empty.
That is the best bus ride I will ever have. Mere minutes turned into definition, and whose definition means less to me than it may have meant to others. For instance, a bee whose life could have ended had it not stumbled onto my watch, my knee, my nose, and shoulder.
I wonder if my absence is notable. If even recognized, at all.
I wonder if you are trying to find me; I am achingly displaced from you.
Considerably, my autonomy here is double-edged; my individuality is heightened, my loneliness is at its call. Yet, in moments where I find a stripey buddy, I feel a notable pull towards you.
I am sorry for misplacing you, Home.
Your appearance finds itself in the smallest of matter.
With love,
V.L.A.
P.S. Here’s a continued thought – In My Life, The Beatles.
