9
Author: Claire Shah
When I landed in Lisbon, my luggage didn’t. Maybe that was the point.
The first morning, I wore the same jeans from the flight and bought a scarf from a street vendor who smelled like espresso. I rode Tram 28, holding on as it squealed through narrow turns, my reflection flashing in windows full of pastries and postcards.
For the first time in months, I felt unanchored. Not lost, but light. I’d come after a breakup, chasing something I couldn’t name.
On my last day, my luggage finally arrived at the hotel. I didn’t open it. I just left the tag on and watched the sun set over the Tagus River, knowing I’d already found what I came for.
