At Ten Thousand Miles Up In the Air
I used to think of wings and images of soft breakable feathers fluttered around my mind, fragile but strong enough to take a life all the way around the world and back. Last week I got on a plane not having stepped foot on one in over ten years. There is something frighteningly exhilarating about putting your trust in something so heavy yet so light that could drop at any moment from thousands of miles up in the sky to the thick hard breaking ground down bellow. There were moments where I felt as though I couldn't feel my own body, like someone else was siting in my seat while I watched and was always safe from up above. The plane dipped, there was a bit of turbulence and I took a connecting flight at nine o'clock at night by myself. All I saw were thousands of glittering lights and pitch black darkness by turns. I loved it.
From now on when I think of wings, I'll still think of something fragile with strength withheld
within in it now made out of metal that whips around and through frothy clouds.
I don't know why, but I think there is nothing like seeing the tip of a plane's wing from your very own window seat.
also, can anyone sense a fic coming on from that title? Because I sure can.