At the bus stop they’ve a poster of a spiral galaxy spilling light and I think that’s where I’m going.
I sit in the front where the disabled people like me are meant to sit, my dog tucked under my feet, and I dream a bit. Going back to the stars…
I remember a prescription by Marcus Aurelius: “Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.”
I picture a boy made of light who runs beside the bus, his body immaterial and bright so that he passes through buildings. I watch as he sprints through hotels and tenements right on time, always keeping up. He is, of course, my twin brother who died at birth. It’s an excellent fancy.
“We are a way for the universe to know itself.” (Carl Sagan)
My brother doesn’t speak. Doesn’t judge anyone. Fears no obstacles. He’s fast love.