Everything outside is just plain dark matter. So dark it feels as if we’ve been swallowed up into oblivion.
I’m tempted to close my heavy eyes and give in to fatigue. I almost do, but just then we exit the express road and all of a sudden a city bursts in front of us and all of its lights have me glued to the window pane again.
“Oh my god, look!” I turn to find an empty passenger’s seat next to me.
I’m still not used to travelling solo. A year ago, I wouldn’t have had the guts to do this. I would’ve chickened out before even letting myself consider the opportunity. Isn’t it funny, what a year can do to a person?
The whole bus is filled with sounds of other passengers’ snoring and I’m most likely the only one on board who’s awake, besides the driver. I haven’t had much sleep in the last few days, to be honest. Still, I fight to stay awake in order not to miss a single thing.
Moments come and go. That’s why I collect them.
Everything’s so much more fascinating when the night falls. So captivating. It’s impossible to look away. I’m in love with all the pretty lights blinking in the distance. I wonder where they come from, what life is like over there. I’m drunk on imagination… or maybe just tired.
But I don’t care that I’ve been in the same position for the past ten hours and I don’t care that there are many more to go. I’m too busy enjoying the moment to acknowledge the little, unimportant inconveniences.
This couldn’t be more perfect. This the life I have always wanted.
Sometimes I wonder if, being so far from home, I should feel at least a little homesick. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s wrong that I don’t.
But then I think, maybe home is not a place.
Maybe home is a feeling.
I feel at peace. I feel that I belong. I feel that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
And it’s the happiest I’ve ever felt.