A busy last day, it was.
I have been everywhere and nowhere all at once, flitting from one place to another, a crazed butterfly eager to visit every part of this strange, foreign garden before flying home.
So much to do, so much to see, and yet still so very little time.
And so there I stood, the tracks rumbling beneath my feet as I took the time to soak in every detail, committing them all to memory.
It will be a while before I’ll be here again, if I even do return. It would cost quite a lot to go back you see. I’d gladly do it if there’s something worth going back for, however. No one knows, really.
I would very much like to come back, of course. Perhaps even stay. I like it here. It’s clean. Quiet. Structured.
The train came to a screeching halt, signalling the end of this ride, and the beginning of my next.
And then, above the din of unfamiliar tongues, I hear my name. Through a sea of strange faces, past the rushing feet and shoving arms, I see you smile.
And a photograph just won’t be enough to capture that moment.
Author’s Note: Hardly anything inspires me to write these days, but my recent out-of-the-country trip was one of those rare things that brings me back to my muses. Here’s to hoping it happens more often.