letters to nobody #2: blue sky

darling nobody,

i write today from the plane to mexico, and i am all negative emotions. hope finds its way through sometimes, but it's mostly just fear. fear that i made the wrong decision, this is such a long time– a fluttery feeling in my heart, i want to go back. i've been wondering if the sky is bluer in the west. i try to remember that i will finally get to see for myself, and i am a little calmer.

i look out the window and bite back tears. i don't speak to the boy seated next to me because i'm too wrapped up in my own thoughts. and then i sleep– i sleep a lot. flights aren't that bad, i think, i don't know what all the fuss is about.

we stop in the city of love, my limbs sore from sitting for too long. we've been warned by everyone already: the french are cold, the french are unfriendly. they will not help you if you do not speak their language. the experience at the airport is quite the opposite. people smile at us warmly without hesitance, and i smile back tentatively, still wary. when i ask a man for directions, he points out the right way with a big smile, and when i run into him again during the security check– a flustered mess– he continues to smile at me comfortingly, and helps me through it– and i am thankful, but unable to express it with anything more than a smile. if you're reading this, lovely french man, thank you.

+

it's funny and heartbreaking to me, how i don't really know you. in truth, without even knowing it, you're the only one keeping me sane throughout the journey. thoughts of you keep me from being homesick, and it makes me laugh: am i really dependent on you, a stranger, for the feeling of familiarity?

+

my next flight is just as long and tiring as the previous one, and it is five hours after i land in paris. the view of paris from the plane isn't as beautiful as i expected to be– it looks like just any other city, and i'm starting to think i'm not a city girl anymore.
in the plane, i think mostly about unnecessary things that seemingly don't matter: one of them being how good french butter is. i am seated next to two bubbly french men who help me out the entire time, and are all smiles. they are holidaying in cancun for three weeks, and are very excited about it. i smile wistfully as i tell them i'm going to be here for ten whole months, and hold back how much i miss home. i think about home a lot. what everyone is doing, what time it is there, how everything is going on without me as it was– it's strange to imagine home without me.

i now hate planes. they scream unproductivity and cramps and i am unable to do anything but sleep in them, that too, extremely uncomfortably.

as i land in cancun after twenty-four hours of flying, it finally strikes me that i will remain here for almost an entire year, and the tears begin to flow.
this is not the time, i tell myself, but the tears don't know that.

i look out the window, heart crumbling, and then suddenly, i smile.

the sky is definitely bluer in the west.

darling nobody,
i was a world away, in your metaphorical arms, twenty four hours ago, and now i'm not.

but in my head, you're still here, with the blue sky. there is no light yet, but it will be here soon.

until then, i will depend on you, a stranger, for all my happiness.

and i trust you, my darling.
i trust you to keep me sane.

x