That Bus Ride

Still won't forget it. That bus ride from Mindo to Quito. The blurring scenery. The last bus of the night. Knowing I was leaving Ecuador. Knowing that I was going home to my weak grandmother. Knowing that I'd likely never return.

Talked to an old man in Spanish. He told me about the restaurant he had opened. He used to live in Quito, but "no hay amor."

Dreamed out the window. Missed home. Missed my cats. Missed normalcy, but knew there's no such thing.

Watched a couple flirt, laugh. Looked at my reflection in the bus window. We drove on.

Highways at night to Quito...

a memory, from nine years ago

Now I’m sitting on the fire escape behind our lounge of the 12^th floor—scary looking down. Just funny the way your legs feel, as if the ground is about to disappear and you are about to fall. Anything to escape the truth.