We took a bus and thought nothing of it.
We sat next to strangers.
We didn’t care if someone sneezed and blessed them with a smile.
We grabbed the railing as we disembarked the bus.
We stood in a close, tight line as we waited for our morning coffee.
We pet the cat that was eating pizza inside the rest stop.
We didn’t see the Cliffs of Moher.
We saw buckets upon buckets of fog instead.
We tried to look disappointed when taking a photo next to the welcome center.
We pointed to what the Cliffs ought to be.
We got back on the bus to explore somewhere else less disappointing.
We struggled to zip up our rain jackets.
We obliged the guide when he told corny jokes.
We decided to make the best of it.
We hired bikes to ride around Galway without helmets.
We pointed out the swans swimming quaintly in the canal.
We joined the crowd to watch the young barefoot woman sing in the rain.
We clapped loudly when she finished.
We made sure to leave money in her open guitar case.
We stopped in a coffee shop and bought quirky postcards.
We fell asleep on each other’s shoulders on the bus ride back.
We’d hear snippets of the guide’s speech on the Cranberries.
We dreamed to the sound of “Zombie.”
We rolled back into Dublin at half-past seven.
We didn’t wash our hands before dinner.
We unknowingly let the salt and rainwater dry in the creases of our palms.
We admired all the places we’d seen and photos we’d taken while at dinner.
We rubbed our eyes when we were tired.
We walked back to our Airbnb arm in arm.
We shared toothbrushes when one of us had forgotten theirs.
We said goodnight and said we loved each other.
We couldn’t sleep from all of the excitement.
We thought of the upcoming reservations and appointments we had.
We assumed that the next day would be the same.
Kendall Poe is a writer based in Brooklyn, New York. Her work has appeared in Southeast Review, Sky Island Journal and Tin House Online. When she’s not writing, she likes to bike in Central Park.
Photo of postcard is courtesy of author; the artwork is by Jesse Treece.
