flying airplane

Where do you feel most at home?” he asked.
She thought for a moment and then answered, “Up in the clouds; where it never rains, where I can be in the middle of a thunderstorm. Up where sunsets last forever and sunrises can be chased. Where I’m just a little closer to the stars and the constellations sparkle. Up where huge cities are just tiny twinkles of light and mountains are the size of my thumb. Where I remember that I’m smaller than a speck of that city light, but I am composed of microscopic atoms. I feel most at home when I have no idea exactly where I am; when I’m in between places. Something about being in an airplane, feels so familiar.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write, 56
“From an airplane window”