Reflections of wispy white clouds
Deep shiny blue paint on the plane’s engines
The heavens call us upward, onward towards our destinations.
159 lonely people, each in our own cocoon
I feel akin to my sister and brother travelers.
here are we going?
How did we get here?
This flight suddenly becomes a parable for the time you left me.
It wasn’t four months ago that you told me you’d had enough, that a year of being together should have produced more than it had. You were done, and I was alone, wondering questions that had no answers.
You are the ocean whose beaches I cannot see;
I can only remember that you were warm like Sherwood Beach on the wayward side of Oahu;
Mulling as the winter’s demolition of Ruby Beach on the Olympic Peninsula;
Content as that stretch of beach on Long Island Sound.
You confuse me.
Now I feel… I feel…
I hunger for the emotion that I granted control of my well-being to our relationship, knowing that it would be tumultuous.
I did not lose control, but I did sacrifice it occasionally as a gesture towards our sanctity and continuity.
I surrounded my emotional well-being to stay together with you- but wait- that is not true.
I didn’t give up anything to you
I look out the window, reach my hand towards eternity,
and watch a movie
to avoid thinking of you.