I once came across a quote by someone that went around the lines of there will always be reasons to wait; but at the end of the day, there are only two things in life, reasons and results… and reasons don’t count.
I do not fully agree with that saying, but waiting can sometimes hold a calm pain.

Sitting there, in front of Gate 15, waiting, reflecting… One week that went in a blink. Like I had my eyes shut and dreamt. I, the dreamer of them all, I enjoy the moment right before I fall asleep. My sleeps are often dreamless. I have a bad memory. I block out all the details and I don’t know why. I enjoy waking up on an off day, knowing that I still have so much to do.
I have plans of my own. I have dreams. I am working on fulfilling them, but the days lack baraka and so I’ve learned to prioritize. I learned how to give ranks to things that matter into a list of ten items or less. Anything else doesn’t matter.
But you know that by now, don’t you.
I do not add to my screenplays anymore ever since I met her. I am taking driving lessons, so that should count for something. I did travel when I had a reason to.
I need a reason… I long for a result.

So I’m sitting there, wondering, begging… if this is indeed a dream, could you not wake me up? Could I stay here, asleep, away from all the tension, from all the politics? Do you think I smother the joyful kid inside? Do you think I over analyze? Well, here’s the kicker. I only over analyze myself. I only judge myself. I’ve been like that ever since I was 14. I’ve judged myself too much that now I’ve set a very high throne for myself and now that I’m up there. I am lonely. I feel better than many. I am the lonely king of all. I do not judge people. I only judge myself. I judge my decisions. I keep throwing what ifs all around me until it suffocates me. I am my own critic. I hate myself… and that is why I try too hard.
I need a break.

Please don’t wake me up.
Let me have this week. Let me have it played back over and over like a broken record. Let me enjoy this sweetness. Allow me the honor of being in her presence, in her void. Allow me the life. Allow me the sentiency of acceptance, of becoming one with all, with life.
Why can’t my job wait for me? Why can’t my parents never age? Why can’t you allow me to cast a lock, one insignificant lock on everything, freeze everything around me so I can just be there?
Talk about a journey of self discovery. Talk about a long distance call that changed everything, that grabbed me out of my handmade 100% dry oblivion. Would I offend her if I labeled her a boat? Would I offend her if I stared at her for a few hundred years?
Oh well, I would probably freak out if I had someone stare at me… maybe even give them the finger, especially if they were a one year old baby.
Don’t ask.
I’m already there. I’m freaking out at how much you’ve pulled out of me. Who are you?

Should I miss my flight, pretend that I was late, pretend that I have a bomb on board?
Should I forget about seeing my old place, my old school, the street that raised me, my best friend, my lady and love?
Should I assume that it all didn’t happen, that I never met her?
That is was all one big dream?
Should I go on pretending?

Dear God, I am speechless… and I fear the things that I may say.
Dear God, I fear my thoughts. I fear my gravitating emptiness. I fear the winds of fury and the waves of rage that I feel are coming my way.
Dear God, protect me from all that is dark within me. Grant me the wisdom. Bring me the serenity.
Dear God, guide me, guide her.
Dear God, inject me with faith and patience. Imbibe me with courage and love for all no matter what.
Dear God, save me. I need faith.
I need faith.
I… need… faith.

Dear God… don’t let me let you down.

Now I’m on board. It’s already been forever. I can tell that it’s going to be a long day… a very long day; a long ride. I can’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep. I’m hungry. I got my zen, my laptop, my book, a 40 channel TV sticking out of some dude’s back on a four hour flight. I don’t want any of it.
I just want to feel like… tranquility.
I love that word.
They picked the aisle seat for me. I hate aisle seats. It always happens that I’m the first one there and hence I have to get up at least twice for people to get in to their seats. You don’t get to see the view out the window and all you’re left with is a personal screen that shows a downward view of the landscape down there so you’ll see the pilot if he chutes him out.
I can’t read. Music doesn’t feed me right now. My phone is off. I need to hear her voice. I need to smoke.
I need to burn something dear.

Long flight.
Shit!!
Can I just ask them to fly me back?
Oh well…

Some dude with a beard calls the flight attendant, asks her about what he thinks is a crack in his window. He tells her that if it breaks then we’re all going to die. He freaks everybody out. It’s -45 degrees out there it’s only frost, she says; but alas, he does not listen. Stereotypically, he’s the hijacker of the day. He’s the reason why everybody’s hissing and whispering and wondering if this is it. That’s when the turbulence hit the fan literally. That’s when the plane starts throwing us right and left.
That was the moment I felt closest. Was that the end of the pattern I’ve been following, the end of the million signs I’ve been gathering; like my very own stamp collection that in five hundred years are still gonna be worthless to the keen collectors. Me? Signs make me. I believe.

Airline food sucks. I ask the flight attendant for chocolate. I’m not a big fan, but I needed it.

Why am I writing this?
Why am I posting this?

I fail to grasp the fact that I’m back here.
This can’t be home.