Abruption

6:30am. A thin mist rolls off the top mountain peaks and quietly slithers through the old, cylindrically angled Japanese houses. It’s calming serenity slowly awakens the world with it’s silent alarm. With morning, life comes without any regard to time. It comes and comes again, day after day and in it’s own presence, I’m reminded of absence.

The bus rolls along through the hills and the silence is broken by sighs and slighted, salty streams. Bus, train, train, plane, plane, plane, car, home. 26 hours of waiting, thinking, wondering. No answers, only questions.

The words replay over and over like a disjunct film loop with every other ten frames cut out. Urgent. Call home.

Nonlinear, unfocussed time is mashed together with sour, stomach pits and salty anger. Acid reflux. Hollow confusion bounces buoyantly like a lost sound-wave looking for a portal to enter. No sense of grounded reality and all is blurred. Get off the plane, get on the next. Find the gate, wait. Distract with music, silly games, people watching, face guessing, realizing from today, these eyes will see everything through a filtered lens.

I am the clicking, gut-wrenching gears that crank the roller coaster up it's track of anticipation. Expectations are undefined and images from an incomplete life fleet in between each clamp. Blur.

Baby’s cry on planes, children laugh. They don’t know, and they wont. They never had it so good: these fortunate faces. I interject, BUT everyone goes through things in life, everyone has their hardships. BUT this is mine and it’s every moment wrapped into a cyclonic second. This is changing who I am with each breath. We all sit in the same space, and share these same moments, yet we share a separate clock. They don’t understand and never will.... It could always be worse, I interject again, always. I console and try to convince. I argue, alone.

Get off the final plane (hour twenty-six). Hear a familiar voice. Ride the escalator up, look into the eyes of a familiar face and embrace. Release.

I ride in the backseat, blinded by a sun that hasn’t fallen in over a day. It’s prolonged it’s cycle for me, I console and try to convince. Sunshine heals, distracts and escorts life away from the deepest of chasms. It’s warm, ephemeral glow, washes my eyes closed. Perfection gently runs down the backs of my eye-lids and little by little, the moments and sunlight begin their treatment.