and what it comes down to is that all I can hear, think, feel is, “everything in its right place,” and that even though the words feel right, they are so, so wrong

I am on a plane today.

foodcomestiblesthiswayestadirection

baggageclaimdownstairs

cautionthemovingsidewalkisending

cautionthemovingsidewalkwillendin50feet

cautionthemovingsidewalkhasended

theshuttlewillleaveforterminalsAthroughCintwominutes

theshuttleisnowboardingthankyouforyourpatience

moveleftmoverightthankyouproceedtoyourgate

"Some vestige of what was should remain unmarred by the weight of time and distance and forgetfulness."

I say this quietly to myself, but it accomplishes nothing.

The flight attendant in front of me, her name tag says Sandy, she’s flailing her arms at the passengers, safety tips abound, preparations for the worst-case scenario.

My body sinks into the cheap felt cushion underneath me; my mind flutters toward sleep.

I hear Sandy say:

"The nearest exit may be behind you,"

and I nod and close my eyes.

I want it to crash. I don't care about anybody else onboard. Every little bump we hit or turbulence, I mean, I, I actually close my eyes, and I pray that I can get back. No, I'm sick of lying. I made a mistake. I was not supposed to leave.

For as long as I can remember, I have spent my time on either coast. Never in between, always on one of America’s parentheses.

I know I am running away once more, but practice makes perfect.

I spoke of Here, and There, and what they meant, but those places no longer have anything to do with me, and I, nothing to do with them. Location is just a fabrication.

There's a reason that I worked so hard at this stuff when all I wanted to do was take it easy.

You kind of made me want to shut your mouth just to keep out all of those unfriendly feelings. Just because you've got a lot of wax and all those first editions, you thought you'd make yourself feel like you're better than anyone else who hasn't heard of whatever's next, but there was something more going on while you were busy taking notes.

Get your head out from those mags and websites who try to shape your style; take a risk just for yourself and wade into the deep end of the ocean.

The city buzzes outside my window, and this scene is so familiar: on a metro whizzing into D.C., in a cab speeding through L.A.

The bus lurches onto the highway, and the Sears Tower comes into view. I laugh out loud in my bus seat.

This is where I meet myself.

This is where I say hello.

love, regards, whatever the fuck you want
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