The world rolls itself flat under my high prying eye, blurring out into black beneath me.
The soaring rain writes messages on the window as the plane drops. There might be tears of sadness or boundless joy spoken in the lovely little streaming scrawls, but the sense is lost somewhere in the translation.
I am too high, too far off to know anything for sure.
I am sleep walking through Karachi, Istanbul and Amsterdam. I am dreaming of waking or waking from a dream, I’m not quite sure.
Countries and airports have become a blur and I feel a little lost, uncertain which time zone to pin myself to.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
At 5am, 11am, 1pm an airport could be anywhere, anytime. The details seem irrelevant.
I feel I am in reverse through eerily familiar mazes of duty free. Piles of tobacco, baklava, tulip bulbs must be traversed till I find my way home again. Strip lights are a bit too bright.
The notes crumpled in my pocket suddenly seem a inadequate to pay for passage. But what I want must be found, not bought at any rate…
The journey winds on.