Let us start at the end

Friday, August 2, 2013

Yesterday I flew from Lisbon to Newark and from Newark to Denver. It was a sunny day and clouds were sparse, and so, because most of the first plane ride was spent over the atlantic ocean, most of the plane ride was spent in a blue sphere. Where you could look down and see the ocean, with the odd fluff cloud over it, and easily convince yourself that you were looking at the sky. Flying over the sky with the ocean above you.

I spent almost seven hours in this blue sphere.

A blue sphere in which you are allowed to move forward and stand still. 

A sphere in which you can always be moving towards home but never reaching it. Time doesn't exist. You could be home in an hour, or a year, or ten years. It will always be waiting for you, but you'll never arrive. In the blue sphere you'll always be almost home. And what a place to be, almost home. When you're almost home, home is a place where you know who you are and you'll know what to do. When you're almost home, home is that place of hot summered childhood memories, where your feet smack the ground over and over, and you let the screen door slam on your way out of the house. When you're almost home, home makes your throat tight and thick with hometears. And in the blue sphere, you're always almost home. 

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