intertwined

SFO. 2010.

On the way to the wedding. Late night flying, nothing but black out the window and a single star, probably a planet really, if you squint hard. The red lights on top and below reflecting against the small vertical bits on the wing. Despite the dark, I always choose a seat far enough back for a clear view of the ground. Maybe I watch the patterns of street lights, leaking out from an unidentifiable center; maybe I wake at the first twinge of dawn, a deep grey that comes from everywhere before it comes from anywhere. I hand a piece of gum to my neighbor, pleased that he takes it. I scrunch up my camping pillow, pull down my eye mask, and tilt my head at a hugely uncomfortable angle. I love flying.