My house sits on a four way traffic light

I have a ritual.

It goes like this… I sleep on the bus until two stops away from home.

My invisible guardian angel taps me awake or my physical one named Ramata does (Say what you will., i might not be religious, but Spiritual I very well claim)

I almost never find my key when I am with Ramata cause I trust in her ability to remember and find hers. But oddly enough, Mine is quickly reachable when I am on my own.

My house sits on a four way traffic light (Your celebrity status is heightened when you live at the traffic section. In that unique way that of you are observed like a performer everyday you step out your door.)

But, You see, I have started not to care… I dance from my bus stop to my traffic light door assuming my phone is not dead and crooning Alessia Cara’s Wild things or Emile Sande’s Heaven.”

I am a creature of habit, so it on  rare occasion  that  another song plays while I dance to my door while entertaining every car at the light.

As soon as the door opens, unfailingly except for those few occasions something inexplicable pushes me first toward my room; I undress from the door, I dance a little harder and I finally give voice to the song; in a ear cringing high pitch replication. I dance outside, but my singing are only meant for the Non-judgmental humans I call family, who regardless of the frog croak or high shrill scream I call singing, Smiles and welcomes me in.

I have a background hanging behind the door, next to the paint spattered wood floor that I have been meaning to scrape off weeks after painting that wall…. but never got to.

Then Ramata catches me amidst my ritual, in that beautiful way you could only catch something unexpected.

Then I ruined it….

I posed for one picture, Finished undressing at the door  and walk clothes and shoes in hand to my room.

Till next time Villagers.


Village Girl


Pants: Good Girl Rebel (Similar Here)

Heels: Old (Similar here) or (Similar Here)

Blouse: Good Girl Rebel [Old]




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