It began then, on that 20+ hour flight to Taiwan, that curious yearning for a shoulder to lean in on. Back then, the shoulder had a face, but its distinct features have since faded in my mind's eye, as ephemeral as a lunar flower, and as fleeting as a schoolgirl crush.
The only vestige left from that trip is that yearning... still?
It catches me by surprise sometimes, sitting in that humming darkness. More often than not, I sit alone, among hundreds of strange bodies packed together with economic efficiency. And we sit there in transit, completely foreign to one another, each of us waiting for something at the end of all that humming.
And here, in this humming darkness, with the stale air blowing on my dehydrated face, and the awkwardness of unwarranted human contact, here is where it creeps up on me. It's a yearning, no doubt, a yearning for a familiar human touch, for something solid to rest my head upon.
It comes at me in tandem with weariness, striking with sudden precision and a strikingly powerful image. The moment my eyes close of their own accord, a certain energy takes over, teasing me with flash images of finally laying my head to rest on a familiar shoulder.
It strikes me hardest when I'm all alone in the humming darkness, cutting through the clouds at 500 miles per hour. And some part of me still gravitates towards that distant light in the tunnel.
Curious, indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment