When you're running and running and suddenly stop—and the whole world seems to fall into place.
Vignettes of a city below us: staring at stacked blue lights and white owl eyes, wondering where all the cars are going.
Who are you? Where are you going? Where am I going?
Life does this to us—the kids who live on whims and maps and know that if you just buy a ticket, everything else will fall into place.
And I really fell into this place.
I fell into a state of comfort in my little safe haven: a yellow room that led out to sunsets over the cityscape. Big bed to come home to, being guided by a warm breeze each time I stepped out of the airplane.
Music, everywhere, always. That funk band at Stay Gold, jazzy blues on South Congress, and even bass-driven quartet covers over coffee—that's where I really lived. In between wifi networks and bike lanes—always going somewhere else.
But right now, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just sitting up here, watching cars, enjoying the company, and silently wondering where everyone else is going.