sometimes the best tears fall from the sky…
There’s something about flying that makes me sad. Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s that I usually fly alone or maybe it’s the realization that I’m leaving something behind. There’s a moment right after take-off that relaxes me to the point of drowsiness and exhaustion. Like a soul, I imagine that’s the moment I leave myself and for the next few hours I pretend I’ve run away. I always choose window seats so I can feel my head in the clouds and see the tiny lights below that remind me of all the things that happen in spite of my existence. If I’m just so, those lights look like stars and for a few minutes I am alone on a small planet, vulnerable and at the mercy of a powerful vessel. The sounds I use to entertain my ears create memories and I mourn the loss of them, good and bad. Flying gives me the opportunity to step outside of myself and try to make heads or tails of the things I want but don’t have. Nothing material. Nothing unusual. Mostly things associated with matters of the heart or missed opportunities. Like the potential of my voice or things I’ve never admitted or said out loud. Like the doors I’ve closed or never made it through – the moves I’ve made and the steps I’ve never taken. I think there’s something poetic about tears on a plane. When I see someone flying and crying, I wonder if they are tears of joy or loss or pain – or a combination of those. Are they leaving someone they don’t want to lose, or are they arriving somewhere they don’t want to stay? The irony of it all is that I’ve felt so strongly about leaving things behind or moving forward but there’s no safe exit when you’re in the sky. In the time my tears have dried, like clock work, the lights get closer, I’ve harnessed my heart and I must leave my sadness and come back to life.
First and Ninth 