All the while, your thoughts are of someone [[far away]].

Wheels turning faster and the engines revving louder.\n\n[[Gravity]] begins to pull.

G-Forces. Physics.\n\nThe pressure of the world slamming down on your lungs as many tons of steel and flesh gear up to do the [[impossible]].

The moon hangs like a prop over the [[city]].\n\nThis would be the point at which to wax poetic about velvet twilight or some other silly turn of phrase, but it's just a plain night sky.\n\nDull grey like construction paper. Obscured by a light haze.\n\n[[Quiet.|Quiet]]

body {\n margin: 0;\n background-color:#000;\n}\n#passages {\n margin: 0;\n padding: 0;\n border: 0;\n}\n.passage {\n width: 40%;\n min-width: 26em;\n height: 33%;\n min-height: 33%;\n font-family: Helvetica, "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans-serif;\n letter-spacing: 0.1em;\n padding: 1.5em;\n padding-left: 2em;\n font-size:1.8em;\n background-color:#000;\n color:#eee;\n margin: 10%;\n border: silver ridge 0.8em;\n border-radius: 1em;\n}\n.passage[data-tags~=mint] {\n border-color: MediumAquaMarine;\n}\n.passage[data-tags~=strawberry] {\n border-color: HotPink;\n}\n.passage[data-tags~=banana] {\n border-color: Gold;\n}\n.passage[data-tags~=peanut] {\n border-color: Peru;\n}\n.content::before {\n content: '•';\n position: relative;\n left: -0.6em;\n margin-right: -0.4em;\n}\na.internalLink, a.externalLink {\n border-bottom: solid #fff 1px;\n color:#eee;\n font-weight:normal;\n}\na.internalLink:hover, a.externalLink:hover {\n text-decoration:none;\n border-bottom: solid #fff 2px;\n color:#fff;\n font-weight:normal;\n padding-left: 0;\n}\na.internalLink:active, a.externalLink:active {\n border-bottom: 0;\n}\n#sidebar {\n display:none;\n}

The plane could burst into flames right now, and you'd feel nothing but relief.

The plane would have to spin the opposite direction, or continue its trajectory straight around the globe for you to see them.\n\nYou wonder [[why you couldn't have|no]] boarded a plane that would cross the sea, instead of traversing the land.

A cannister once anchored to the ground takes flight.\n\nWith enough speed, you can [[escape]] the most basic confines of your own reality.

The plane bumps along as it taxis, and already you can't bear the noise, or the [[light]].\n\nThe woman to your side is kind and courteous, but you're going to spend the next five hours cringing as your elbows brush.\n\nYou stare out the [[window]].

Just like any other city. Streets and food and too many cars. \n\nDanger where there shouldn't be. Safety where you don't expect.\n\nThe many jokes about the weather haven't proved true until now, though. \n\nSeen from the air, a cloud blanket lingers, hugging onto the coast, draped only over the myriad lights which are poised to shine through the [[night|Start]].

But, you couldn't have.\n\nNo soil beckons you. No ocean belongs to you.\n\nYou're better off staying up in the [[air]].

The woman at the gate tried to tell you that yours wouldn't fit in the crowded space above your head, but you knew it would.\n\nIf it fit [[a week ago]], then why not now?\n\nYou can only assume that she's trying to make [[trouble]] for you.

The plane finally makes a turn on the tar.\n\nThe long, straight path to the void comes into view. The lights ahead are endless.\n\nThe plane aligns itself with this firefly trail like a bullseye.\n\nAnd it begins to [[move]].

You've taxied beyond the view of the paper cutout moon.\n\nGreen and blue beacons blink on the asphalt, and you try to make light of your mood, pondering heavenly bodies and their strange similarity to [[theater trappings]].

You left on the ground someone who cares for you, but doesn't know how to show it.\n\nA drop-off at the gate was made a swift parting, perhaps to spare you both. Perhaps to only spare ''you''.\n\nOn the other side of the wormhole there are someones who you hope care for you, but no longer bother to show it.\n\nA pick-up is waiting but you fear the [[voyage]] that follows.

Leaving San Francisco

The elation of a high and the dread of a coming [[low]].

It's a hard emotion to pinpoint, but it seems very much like [[limbo]].

[[Very far away.]]

[[...|turbulence]]

Quiet, except for the low hum of the idling engines, gearing up to carry many tons of steel and flesh up into the sky.\n\nA full cabin of souls, packed to the brim with [[carts]] and backpacks.

And perhaps... [[a comfort]].

[[And so you do.]]

[[And so you will.]]

Which is better than [[how you actually feel]].

The seatbelt light blinks on as the steel begins to shudder. \n\nNothing but darkness outside the porthole to give any clue of what causes it.\n\nIt's [[exhilirating]].

That's wrong to think, the lady's just doing her job.\n\nJust like the loudspeaker said, every last compartment is stuffed once you board.\n\nBut, as you predicted, yours fits in just fine. You note that, and feel vindicated, [[smug]] even.

When you departed you were full of vigor, despite catching the red-eye.\n\nOver the course of days your enthusiasm grew.\n\nBut the phantom you feared is [[returning|carts]].

Your thoughts have become too self-aware.\n\nKeep looking out the [[window|window2]].

The airline thought it would be a good idea to install screens into the seatbacks, to torment you with flashing images from basic cable, or advertisments that sync to light up the whole cabin in an epileptic nightmare.\n\nAnd no one knows how to shut them [[off|yet]].

The trick is just to keep [[running]].

Well, you aren't there [[yet]].

Laiska [@petitscygnes]