It's beautiful out here. We finally outraced the Sun. Outside the window, imperfect fractals of towns and cities, rendered in whites and oranges. The sky and the horizon that you can't as much see as simply just feel their presence. Once in a while, a solitary car marking a curve with its headlights, at a road that doesn't exist, at this very moment, for anybody else — just its driver and I. Interstates with millions of stories of their travelers; stories never to be told, remembered, or even just recognized as stories. Rivers and their misfortune of being defined by what they reflect, not what they really are. Luna shining from above, oblivious to this very moment, barely registering this century as a blink of an eye in its billions-year old existence.
It amazes me every time I almost miss something so wonderful being right next to me. I wanted to share it with you — this world that, at this very moment, doesn't exist for anybody else — as Friday turns into Saturday and the plane banks left on its final approach, leaving it all behind.
In that way, maybe you're here after all.
— San Francisco » New York, July 2010.
For Như.