Letters from the Sideline

April 7th, 2018

Dear A,

The bus has grown eerily quiet. The tranquil Florida night has lulled nearly every soul into a  peaceful slumber. The only sounds are the ambient hum of the tires on the pavement and the occasional breath of the drowsy dreamers. I've never been one to find myself at rest in a moving vehicle, and so sleep has continued to evade me tonight. Not even the power of music has been enough to carry me off. Instead, I've sat here for the last hour, staring out the window and seeing nothing but rough outlines of the landscape dancing on the dark canvas of the night sky. Every other night, this bus has been illuminated by the blue light of the digital world and filled with the cacophony of a melting pot of earbud runoff, but tonight I am the only vigilant person on the bus (other than the driver of course!). The almost sacred aura surrounding tonight has inspired me to commit to paper the thoughts within my head. 

I look over at you now. You're seated across the aisle from me, sound asleep atop his shoulder. A wave of serenity seems to have washed over you. The gentle rises and falls of your breath are like delicate waves reaching out to the sand. Dare I say it? You're adorable. What on earth am I even saying? I have no idea where that came from, I apologize. Must be the exhaustion talking. Perhaps I'm envious of the unconscious at the moment. Don't get me wrong, the trip we've been on was incredible. I will not soon forget the memories I've made. That being said, I long for sleep to take me. I just want to wake up at home and for everything to go back to normal. What do I even mean by normal? What isn't normal about right now? Nothing has changed. Has it? Again I fear that my sleep-deprived subconscious is speaking out, but I can't help but keep thinking back to this past week...