Impeccable

The bus rolled along the highway, city after city, across barren deserts and past gleaming ocean sides. The sky illuminated a shade of orange as the sun peeked out from behind the mountain tops. The sun’s rays casted a shadow over various objects inside the quiet bus, its inhabitants lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking on the road. All but one.

Alex Varkatzas stifled a yawn as he quietly made his way to the back of the bus, a notebook cradled in his arm. He closed the door quietly behind him and sat down at the booth, resting his head back. His light eyes stared out at the sunrise for a moment, taking the time to wake up.

For months now, it just became a habit of his to wake up not long after the sun had come up. It was the time when the bus - or the world around him - was the quietest. It was the time that he could be alone, clear his thoughts, and just reminisce about her. Calm, relaxed, peaceful; he could pretend that he was back at home for a few moments.

He sat up and leaned forward, uncapping his pen and opening his notebook to a blank page. He stared at it for a few minutes, contemplating on how to start it. He had always preferred handwritten letters to her; it held more meaning, more thought than typing down a few words on the computer and then easily deleting them.

My darling Ashleigh, he started, chewing on the pen’s cap.

The first thing I have to start off with, is saying I miss you. I miss you every day and every hour. It feels like we haven’t spoken in years. I know you’ve been busy - what, with your studies and travels, and I can’t be there to do all of that with you. Speaking of which, how is that going?

Another pause, looking up and staring back out at the scenery passing by him. Words can’t be put together to express exactly what he wanted to say to her. He had missed her far too much. Their whole relationship, it’s a day to day struggle when they’ve both got their own lives to work on. She was out and working abroad, studying to become the better teacher that he knew she is, all the while visiting foreign countries. He, on the other hand, was touring countries to keep his music alive.

It seems like both of them were always on the go, always somewhere, doing something. They hardly had the time to figure out the time zone differences and get used to it. They hardly had the time to fully be awake to hear the other’s voice. Five months and counting.

But they both hung on to their relationship; they both knew it’d be worth it the moment they were both home and in each other’s arms.

Touring has been great - the fans are great, the cities are great. But at the end of the day, I know nothing will feel better than that moment when I come home. All I can think about it you; your hugs, your kisses, your laugh. I need to see you, I need to talk to you. This seems to get harder with time.

Yet, the more I think about it every day, the more my heart race with every memory of you - and the more I appreciate having you. Because I know you’re waiting. Actually, sometimes I wonder how I got lucky to have someone like you by my side. How many men out there can have such a girl like you?

I’ve told you a million times before how lucky I feel to find someone like you. But how can I stop mentioning it? How many girls out there can handle being around slobs like my boys? How many can beat their men’s ass at... God knows how many things? But most importantly, how many girls are willing to wait this much for someone?

I still can’t believe how much of a sports fan you are, or how much of the same musical interests me share - or just, how much alike we are. You’re like my other half in female form. What are the odds? I don’t see many girls truly amazing as you are. I remember just how quickly I fell in love with you when you insisted that I take you to a hockey game for our first date.

Alex wasn’t aware of the small smile playing on his lips as he wrote, nor was he aware of anything else around him. The words kept flowing out in a jumble of topics that didn’t really make sense to him. But he just kept on writing and writing, until pages among pages were filled up with words.

But I think this is about a long enough letter before I turn this into a novel. He chuckled softly to himself. I miss you and I hope this reaches you soon. Two more weeks and I’ll be at home, my turn to wait for you to return. I love you. He signed his name before sitting back, staring at the notebook.

With another laugh and a shake of his head, he carefully tore the pages out of the notebook and folded them up, pulling out the empty envelope that he had tucked inside the inner pocket.

A daily routine for him, but with each letter, he felt closer to home and closer to her.