An Empty Window Seat

There’s nothing quite like finding a window seat on a bus. To me, it feels like winning a lottery. Because once I sit down and lean my head against the glass, the whole city turns into my very own storybook. I love people-watching from that little corner. I watch strangers walk past the sidewalks, vendors arranging fruits at market stalls, lovers holding hands at crosswalks. Even when we’re stuck in traffic — which, let’s be honest, is basically always — the window seat makes it okay. Because from there, I can notice the little details. The way the clouds shift and stretch. How the sun paints the sky in colors that make me want to cry a little because of how fleeting it is. How the light touches even the ugliest billboards and makes them softer, almost kind. Sometimes, with my headphones in, playlist in the background, and the whole world unfolding outside, I feel like the world slows down just enough for me to breathe. The bus may be cramped, the air heavy, but my little corner by the window feels infinite. I think that’s why I’ll always choose the window seat — because it reminds me that even in the middle of chaos, there are still tiny movies happening outside, tiny poems unfolding in the streets. And all I have to do is look.

• Stillness
• Wonder
• Escape