Airplanes make me feel unusual, for flying should be limitless.
What is freedom behind closed windows and
Cabin pressure, juice boxes and echoes?
I imagine it somewhere in the clouds.
High altitudes, the balance between substance,
Vapor.

Learn to look at the veins of your city through the window:
Stop and think; for in a while, they’ll merge with the ones that got a million miles away,
Buildings, urban planning, turmoil,
Bound together by the singularity of air.

Acceptance.
The bawling children stowed away in the cabins behind,
The irked passengers, the calm ones, those that are lost
in translation, in their headphones while movies charge relentlessly in and out of screens,
All with their veins: even the ones that got a million miles away,
Bound together by the singularity of dust.

Learn to smile as they walk by,
Descending tunnels into shuttles and pathways that could be almost indecipherable,
I promise it’ll feel limitless,
And you’ll find yourself flying.