I'll be up at five, so I can leave by six. For this rare occasion, I won't hit snooze. It does not matter that my bones are creaking, and my eyes still craving some sleep because a longing heart can defy anything that's making me weak.
For love, I will ride motorcycles, and respond uncomfortably to men who do not need to know anything more than my name, and where I'm headed. We'll hit the road obnoxiously, and take turns on unfamiliar streets. I will put all my faith in the helmet I'm wearing, and in humanity, while I hold on for dear life.
After a dreadful ride, I will step foot inside an unfamiliar building. I could place a bet that I'd get lost inside because well, it's me. When I finally find my bus, I will hop on anxiously. Yet, despite everything that's running in my head, peace will come to me.
It will come in the way the early sun lies in the palm of my hand, its warmth, melting away my worries.
And from the pair of bright innocent eyes peeking from the seat in front of me.
Calm will come from watching the bus slowly fill with passengers from the city.
Especially, from the thought that all of us are headed somewhere for a grand reason — for love.
Dread will become anticipation and anticipation to plain excitement.
I will wait patiently behind the soft murmurs of strangers. And when the conductor finally hands me my ticket, I would think that I could do this as often as you want me to.
In my seat, I will sink with both childlike wonder and a new sense of independence. There, I will find joy in all the unfamiliarity.
The ride will be a cycle of seats getting emptied and reoccupied as the bus traverses through cities.
And when it gets emptier, I will tell you that I’m almost there.