You are so far above your life.
Everything you know is getting smaller by the minute. You’re in the middle of
something you don’t understand. Your entire life put into terms you can’t
define. Sky. It’s all over the place. Right now, it’s all there is.
The stewardess strolling up and down
the aisle, calm and confident, comfortable with her own ignorance.
A compact community sharing nothing but
a destination. A stranger next to you feeling good about dumping his load of a
life story on you. Expecting justification and empathy. Seeking the comfort of
strangers.
Where you’re going is the past you left
behind, now waiting for you, so it can mock the future you chose, the future
that never happened. Set foot on motherland and it’ll devour you. It’s nothing
but quicksand. You’re destined to be a failure and to realize one’s destiny is
a person’s only obligation. The entire universe conspires in helping you
achieve it.
In your head a whirlwind of jagged
memories and thoughts. Your luggage is a knapsack of belongings, the only proof
you’re not a ghost.
The plane is landing and all you can
think of is crashing into pieces. It’s a mini mayhem on the plane. People
grabbing their stuff, fussing around, talking on their cell phones, coming out
of their mental seclusion.
The guy can’t attach the ramp stairs to
the plane. He pulls forward, then backs up and you know he’s drunk. This is your
country after all. And he’s probably a decent guy. The stairs are finally on
and after that much of a wait, it feels like walking down the red carpet. The
whole little plane community scatters, going about their own business. Boris
goes through security and first thing he’s asked is how much money he’s brought
with him. It’s not random people that get mugged here. In this country
everything’s interconnected. Synergy at its best. Paranoia, the best kind of
awareness.
You walk out of the airport and the air
tastes bitter sweet. It’s a place that embraces you a little too tight. Uninvited
memories start popping out of oblivion. You’ve got the look of a tourist,
backpack and all. Backpacking through your future in the past. And you’d
thought your grammar teacher was an idiot.
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