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”
You didn’t love her.
You just wanted her because she was good for your pride,
not because you needed her by your side.
When she was heartbroken– heartbroken because of you– you let her weep in pain,
anger, betrayal and sadness was all she felt in her veins.
You said that you’d love her forever,
yet after that one other girl; it’s as if you had said that never.