He came out of nowhere, and stole my heart. He certainly wasn’t the best looking thing in the world… unkempt, unwashed, and it looked as though he’d missed a few meals. But I grew to love him, anyway.
I’ll admit it: I was terrified when you pounced on me in the street. Jumping at me from behind was probably not the best way to introduce yourself. But once I realised that you meant me no harm I let you walk with me and you made my heavy walk to the bus station much lighter.
Most of the time you’d walk alongside me, and then sometimes you’d hurry off in front. But you’d always turn your head to make sure I was still nearby. You’d weave your way through traffic to see a friend you’d spotted in the park, but you’d always keep an eye on me and come back sooner or later.
You decided you’d come into the bus station with me and wait for me while I bought my ticket. And then you had a wee rest while I waited for my bus. It was nice to have you with me; I felt like you were looking out for me.
But then something happened to make me realise that I wasn’t special, that I wasn’t the only one: there have been, and there will be, others. Because when that other female backpacker walked in, you jumped at her like you jumped at me. You waited for her to buy her ticket like you waited for me.
I realised then that it was the backpack, not me. I realise now what you are: the patron saint of female backpackers. Who knows what draws you to women with backpacks… maybe they’ve always been kind to you, or maybe you think they need protection or guidance… Whatever the reason, it’s an admirable task to have undertaken, and I liked you all the more for it.
If I could, I would bring you home with me. I’d smarten you up and introduce you to my family. We would live happily ever after. But I know I can’t do that; you have a job to do here.
You were loyal, loveable and loving, and in the short time we spent together we became the best of pals. You were a great companion to me when I needed you and I’ll miss you, Miguel.