19 July 2016

On a flight to Seattle

They're not ice floes. They were just clouds. All that ice floating around the northeastern Pacific wouldn't make sense. I guess it's just constantly cloudy in Alaska.

The sun is setting behind me; when I touch down it'll be night and not the hazy waning morning that greets me every winter I've returned home.

I'm traveling home but I don't want to. Except for my family, nothing awaits me there. I have no more close and loyal friends, I have no work, I have no life. 

Haven't I been waiting to be done and home for nearly four years? 

It's like I don't know how to be home. 

I've been a stranger in a strange land for so long. I was comfortable living as a foreigner, as an outsider.

Flying Over the North Pacific