(no subject)
every stroke was a mile. "ill see you next year" i said, beating my fingers against the keys as the words were beating against my brain. home.home.home.. thats all i wanted, all i could think about.
"i hope you dont mind," i said, leaning over to take a picture of the sunset. The man put his book facedown in his lap and laughed. Jeff Sharaha stared up at me from the back of the book, i stared back. "Are you a photographer?" he took a sip of his coffee, which was black despite the fact that he had made the stewardess go and get him three little containers of milk. "Not really," i said "just an observer." He laughed again and Sharaha shook in his lap. "Where are you headed to?" he took another sip. "Home."
home. home. home.