((..copied from my diary, written on the fight from Boston(US)-Bergen(Norway)..))
My heart breaks a little bit every time I leave Boston Logan. The flight takes off and all in a sudden I feel like throwing up. There's some sort of longing inside me which my body want to get rid of. Or a love my heart wants to get.
I'm not quite sure if it's all the memories, the time which won't rewind, or the pull between my two different homes, which gives me this nowhere bound kinda feeling. Or if it's this love I felt but never truly had, who still keeps a string around my thoughts. I don't know if it's him, or me, or us. Was it ever us? How wild is my imagination after all? A heart is suppose to tell the truth, right, but mine seem to create these movies which might be fiction and might be documentary. For sure it's drama. And it keeps showing a life I could have. If only… if only..
Sometimes it's bearable, everything which did or didn't and should or shouldn’t happen. I put it in a blender and mix it with a busy life and other men's' arms, so I barley notice it's there. But when I leave Boston Logan, I can't ignore it. I get a feeling that I've left behind something hyper mega important… feel like missing something which I never truly had. I just don't know what.
I can't stand it when that one tear crawl down my shin as Boston disappear under the clouds. I've told myself so many times: "Don’t cry". But that one salty tear….
I climb over a sleeping Greek lady and find rescue in the restroom. The blue intense light, define my wrinkles and makes my skin even grayer then usual. My eyes seem bigger and emptier. Like a shell. Hello? I do a little soundcheck to assure it's me standing there. A black clearly marked line goes form the tip of my eyes down the skin. So much for waterproof makeup. But it's funny how the smallest thing, the smallest tear, can make the strongest mark… Like when someone's blue eyes meet yours for only a few seconds, and years after you still see them clear as day. Short time long impact. Sounds like a business slogan. Love-slogan?
Back in my seat I watch romantic movies about cowboys and sunsets. The closer I get to Europe the loader I hear the call from a Tennessee ranch I've yet to know. And from a US road-trip I've yet to experience. And an LA-dream I've yet to create. My hometown which I love so much suddenly seem dull. And going home suddenly seems like the stupidest thing anyone can do.
What am I doing? Stop the flight. Turn back.
…Landing in 23 minutes and US has already started to look like a faded dream. My brain can't digest how quickly 'now' turned to 'then'. How quickly US is Europe. But I ain't got time to think about that. Raise the back of your seat. Fasten seatbelts. Luggage under the seat in front of you.
My dad picked me up.
"How was the trip?"
"Good"
Home, bittersweet, home.
