A ladybug landed on me

I was walking this morning on a viaduct, over a railroad. It was a gray viaduct, long-gray-fast viaduct, the ones you just cross, which does not count, otherwise badly.
Drowsiness for the non-slept night, for the three days in a row of parties and dreams and lives and memories and death (even if these words are merely synonyms). A sunny Sunday, after all, I mean, if the gray viaduct was not there.
I was not walking, it was much less, something that is not meaningfull enough to be mentioned more than the wide open wall-toilet I've so many times used the party last night, and the night before and the night before.
Still, a ladybug landed on me.

First I thought it was a fly, a bug, something stinky, probably poisonous, but then again, don't we always think like that? It flew by my side, as if a lover (which made me think it could be a mosquito), but so I remembered of the gray viaduct and on it there can not be love, not even from a mosquito.
For reasons such as the heavy luggage I was carrying, the weakness from the previous days (which made me wish for a company, even from a mosquito) I let that hideous bug land on me.
It turned out it was not that hideous, as not-hideous it could be on that large sunny viaduct.

A ladybug landed on me.
I didn't even stop, maybe for the surprise for not being expecting that, the reflex to drive my fingers to my green shirt and flick the bug from my shirt was faster than my skill to interpretate that it was more than a bug, it was (is) a lady.
It was the very simbol of luck in that unlucky morning and place and years.
Since I've flick it away and did not stop, someone who might had seen that unexpected encounter might have thought I was really cold toward it, but then again here I am writting how a lady has changed my morning for the very fast three seconds we've met, loved, fought, hoped and died. Even if I'm writting only to prove to someone who has (not) seen it I'm not that bad.
It made me think how things are like this, aren't they?Isn't it really hard to notice when luck land on you for the speed and rarity it happens? And when it does happen, shouldn't we not stop? For the lady has flown away but the gray viaduct in the sunny Sunday morning remains, shaking unfairly not for the bugs who miraculously fly over it, landing on distracted people, but for the trucks and buses and cars and the trains that passes beneath it, fast and going both ways. Shaking but as eternal as brute, as heavy as ugly, as glorious as gray.

And this is another thing that happens, that lady crossed my path momentaniously and has reached a very profund level of meaning to me; ladies do that to us, man and brute viaducts, still, we try not to shake, and when we do we blame the trucks.
Even if only for today, that ladybug is the love of my life, for I do not think I'll be able of stop thininkg of her, the black spots on her red back, imagine what would've happened if I've seen her eyes, round and black as I can only imagine and dream, and even if only for today I can never stop talking about her and how my shirt felt her tiny legs and told me they were many and pretty as could only belong to a lady and a bug.