Sunday postcard from… halfway home


IchgC8A

Underneath, the smooth marble hills of pale clouds lay like a barren desert; on the edge of the skies a burning rim of a setting sun, almost as if some mighty hand had set the edge of the universe on fire. Perhaps one day I would be on board a plane much like this one, looking back into what I thought was the sunset but what would actually be the armageddon, and when I’d land, everyone I loved would be gone. The dying sun burnt brighter than I had ever seen it as it aggressively painted that last strip of the sky it still had control over. I was rapidly fleeing from that scenery of spectral scarlet and wondered, if anyone else would now notice the world coming to an end. I wished it wouldn’t.

There is no place lonelier than the waiting room before the gate, as you have just watched him leave and you know he sits deep in thought at his own gate somewhere nearby. It is never good to turn back to steal one last glance; it might be that he, too, will disappear, just as the lover of Orpheus did as he impatiently glanced back at her at the gates of hell. That is why I didn’t. I wish I had. In my mind he was growing dimmer and dimmer, shrinking in size until I had to doubt whether he was ever real. All the time we were moving further away from each other in a civilised, casual manner. If I could, I would run to him; but the borders separate us like bulletproof glass. A day from now I would be gazing at him through a harsh computer screen, unable to break the glass in between, unable to reach and grab.

‘One day we won’t have to say good bye anymore’, he always says before he leaves.

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