between clouds and ground
I was planning to write to get it all out...at the end of the day writing to me is the most expressive form of all, my truest language, my most honest voice. But I couldn't. Had two long flights so I packed a moleskin with virgin pages waiting to be filled, a pen that felt right in my hand, even my phone with its endless blank documents—still couldn't write. The words stayed locked inside, prisoners of whatever was happening to me at 30,000 feet. Spent the flight fighting immense nausea, my body rebelling against the unnatural act of hurtling through sky in a metal tube. But I enjoyed the view above the sea way more than I should have...because for the duration of the flight nothing mattered. No one knew who I am, neither did I. It was like my past choices, trauma and scars never existed, dissolved in the thin air between earth and heaven. I was suspended in a space where identity becomes optional, where history loses its grip, where the weight of being myself simply evaporated...