/of falling and flying

You have been at it for so long. Incessantly cruising. Stopping for a quick glass of perspective and soda and then back again. There are times when you have been stressed almost beyond the breaking point. And then there are times when it feels as if your heart has been placed onto a pile of soft down feathers. Some of your stories have had happy endings. Some haven’t. Some were meant to be. Some were meant not to be. And yet you fly.

You are the lovely voyager and it’s your journey. You fly into the horizon that’s no longer unknown. At times it feels like you could move with your eyes closed. It is… hauntingly familiar. But then you experience something unfamiliar—a force, a pull. Are you falling against your will—or maybe in tandem with it, who knows anymore? It’s as if the law of gravity is no more than a local regulation, and breaking it no more than a parking offense. It pulls you down enough for you to not escape the atmosphere and enables you to fly just above the shores of consciousness—where your spheres of existence collide and tend towards becoming one; intersecting enough to strike a sense of familiarity and leave the space of personal freedom.

You are the lonely voyager, and s/he’s the sea. The sky is a blanket of gray, merging with the gray sea off on the horizon. It’s hard to tell the difference between the sea and the sky. Between the voyager and the sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart.