Pyrrhic Denouement

sincesheleft:

I haven’t been on a lot of airplanes. It’s just not something I’ve done much of, travel I mean. So each time I get to the airport all of the things that most folks find inconvenient I find interesting, and vaguely new and exciting. Though, lately every time I get on a plane it seems that I’m flying away from what I want and straight to what I don’t. I guess it all comes down to what we’re ready to leave, and what we are heading toward.  

            “The only baggage you can bring is all that you can’t leave behind.”

She said she hated me for leaving. Coming in and out of her life at my connivence. She said that it wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t. I didn’t know what else to do. This is all that I know how to do. How many more trips, how many places to see, how man lonely beds do I wake up in? Seems I find another her in every city I arrive in, and leave the last just the same. 

In a perfect world we are both looking at the same setting sun. There’s this big window that I’m looking out of at the airplanes that are on the tarmac, but that window is more of a mirror. In it we see ourselves in the outside world. It’s designed that way, to reflect us upon the world. When we look at the world we’re forced to evaluate who we are in it. Maybe this is because life is cruel, life wants us to teach us something harsh. Either way, I can see my self, and I know she sees what I’m seeing. The setting sun lets us know when it’s time to go. We need the light, and when it’s gone, we know that we too, need to find it somewhere. 

All of our suns go down. We always know, instinctively when it’s time to go. 

Now.

(Image by ClaraDoti)