Just a little something while I was flying to Tampa yesterday:
I’m in a fucking can in the sky. I am gliding to my death. I’m touching clouds, staring down below at the world so small, I feel like a damn giant.
I love to fly. I love seeing all that God created from a height only They can reach and I can never aspire to.
I’m afraid of heights. I’m small and I was made of the earth and my feet should never leave the ground.
The clouds always capture me with their ever changing beauty. The sky is a constant picture of miracles. I am Icarus, in love with the ever closer Sun.
Humans were not meant to fly. If we were, we’d have wings. Instead we strap them to a tin frame and shove it into the sky to do that work for us. What the ever loving fuck were we thinking?
Racing thoughts of achieving the unachievable and touching with our hands the thing we covet most from birds and flying things: freedom.
Thank God, we’ve landed.