When all is said, the site no longer matters; it makes little difference whether i'm burned in the heating sun, caught in a heavy rain, or sailed across a navy ocean. They are to weave in one crease somewhere inside me. Nevertheless, from another dimension, the site means something hard, engraved, irreplaceable. These days in home I found myself disheartened, nonplussed, and suffocated. Out in the city I navigated through the giddy horde, antisocial. There’s no subversive changes but nuance shifts that eventually leave the sentiments in deluge. I felt like a caged elf. I questioned my staunch nature.
“I miss the day when the glass is always half full”, when I was exuberant always, at least in front of you, my heaviest confidant. It’s feeling colder inside than outside; I know, relieved that I didn’t initially, all is irrevocable. Those detritus of enchantment repaints the vibe of mine. I owed it all, to the ones that imprinted me. What’s wrong with my mawkish side? Why is eccentricity to be censured? Who else sway one stronger than the self does? One can't ask the sea to never swell in rage. In that you've forsaken your role as my defender, i build my enclosure higher, thicker, colder than the backyard fence, so there's no errands, no means of lapse, of censure. You know everything yet about life——the one I devoted to live. Terrified to admit, I hesitated when asked whom I am referring to.
Half explicit thrill, half insidious vehement. Full fugitive conviction. My second journey towards America. What happened last summer in Texas flew by on some occasion. That’s the center of incidence, not mentioning millions clips of the periphery, the subjective. which stifled my intimidated solider in an unexpected battlefield. “Tell me where the time goes, it’s like I’ve had my eyes closed.” Some memories are encapsulated. The world seems to remember more I wish to.
As those ego pitfall, the outside order of time becomes my last propel. I never settle, sometimes tarry. I rearranged the handy necessities in the backpack, inspecting within, behind, beyond. The ruffles hinged imply a constant shuffle between packing and unpacking. “Beneath the flying cloud the home assumed forgotten.” Adrift, astray, bewildered, apathetic, unsettled. I'm related to these related words. The plane of the rite of passage takes off, me the only passenger.
19:45 July 20, 2025. In the clouds above the Pacific Ocean. Flying from BJ to NYC.
