When I travel by bus I try to sit near a window. I sit down, snuggle up, and when the engine starts, my mind races. On the way, the different landscapes emerge swiftly and my thoughts are lost in the different colors, textures and sounds.
I settle there, looking and wandering.
I imagine myself running through the forest trees, free and happy. I see myself on the little boat, that floats in the river, and riding the bicycle that crosses the wooden bridge, with the basket loaded with fruit and flowers. I’m the woman who walks the dog on the sidewalk, the girl sitting in the coffee shop window, the one who’s talking on the phone, smells the warm bread, the one who’s embraced by her husband and the one who, passionately, kisses, her girlfriend. I am the woman who plays with her rings at the newsstand queue, the one that pushes the baby’s stroller, the one that reads while walking and the one that recreates the musical beats on the glass of the bus stop. I am the one who drives the car that passes the bus stop, the one that waits at the crosswalk, the one that greets with a nod and the one that cleans the disobedient tears.
I’m all this when I travel by bus.
When we all reach the destination, I take a deep breath, sketch a smile, step on the road and it’s just me again.
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