Everywhere I look is new. Curved windows, antique storefronts, rolling hills, crowded buses full of strange bodies from every nook of the world. And I'm intrigued at how we all travel this same route at this same hour, yet have very different destinations.
As the wheels forge on up these hills, the movement of my life is pressing on my own resistance. Here in the midst of the new, I keep sliding back into the past that I traveled so far to leave behind.
In my solitude I remember THEM--the ones who gave me a glimpse into lives I was never meant to live and yet something in me lunges behind to that those few people, those few moments of feeling protected, understood, partnered, and I wonder why I chose to be all alone in the world.
But then the bumps of the bus bring me back to life, back to the present, and remind me to keep pushing up that hill. Because it's not HIM I'm missing--it's someone, or something, up ahead.
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