My beloved has just left Zagreb on a bus heading for Motovun. She will arrive to the bridge on the Mirna under the hilltown in a bit less than four hours, and I will be waiting for her over there. Our uphill trek to my house will be a joy, as will be the shower we will take afterwards. This time around, she will stay with me for a couple of weeks at least. In the meanwhile, it is wonderful to look out of the bus with her eyes. Whenever I check the time on my mobile phone, I can tell exactly what she can see. Actually, I can see it myself. Even more, I can hear the rumble of the bus. I can smell the people sitting around her. And I can feel the vibrations of the seat underneath her bum and thighs. On her trip, I am with her in every sense of the word. For I have taken the same bus time and again. By now, it is my bus, as it were. Which is why I am my beloved, too. We are one with the bus, the road, the landscape, and the sky. We are one with each other, too. A magical bus, this bus of mine.