Tuesday, April 3, 2012


No, I don't know what's going to happen. But I welcome it. It's like going to the airport. You know as soon as you get there, your flight will be delayed and they will oversell tickets for the next flight and your luggage will get lost and there will be something you don't understand happening on the tarmac which causes the plane to taxi for an hour and your layover will be at the only airport you hate and the only restaurants in your terminal during the layover will be terrible and they'll have insanely long lines and unsatisfying food. But you also know that you're getting to fly on a plane. You get to sit in a chair, maybe a cramped chair next to someone who has bad breath, but that chair is in the sky. You get to look out the window at the world below and cities that once seemed large and intricate are now small and quaint. You can't even see cars from up here. Houses look just like the tiny green ones from Monopoly and roads become looping gray ribbons that spread and tangle across the countryside. Sometimes, you go through clouds, and when you resurface above them, you are in this magical world that only a handful of people get to see. Everything is soft and pillowy and enormous and clean. You know you have to land though. But again, another magical thing happens. You're somewhere new and different. The air is slightly thicker than you're used to and the trees aren't like the ones you have at home. And there's something exciting about to happen.

I can't sit here and pretend I know exactly what you want and what you like and what you need. I don't. Even if you told me, I'd still be a bit biased because I am me, and you are you. But I do know that you're exactly what I want, and I must have you. Even if for only five minutes. I'm not going to sit on this side of the fence anymore and idly fantasize about what could happen when I'm grown up enough to make it happen.