“..with a feeling like jet lag—an odd sensation of fragility, of being there and not here, somehow distant from my surroundings.” Roberto Bolano, Sensini.
It’s funny and sad, in a weirdest way….
During the recent journey, I’ve seen so many skies—sky with scores of faces and colors, sky with outrageous mood, sky whose voice calms me down, sky pretending to be sky, sky with or without evenings, and sky who steals my last morning with Asia.
Those skies.. follow me to my deepest unconsciousness.
..when I woke up, it’s in the middle of night.. Then I choked up with nausea in my head..
Seemingly asleep the rest of the world was, or at least my surroundings, I had this numbness, because I tried not to think.. or feel..
Hey.. it’s not a feeling like jet lag, it is a jet lag..
but then I know exactly neither is true..
Who suffers more? The leaver or leavee? I or Asia?
She doesn’t seem to care; it’s morning over there anyway.
I, now, continue to drag my tired body to the familiar arena of seclusion... till the dawn comes..
with its soothing warmth, my soul rests, while my eyes are still open, searching for things that I cannot have.
..
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