Somebody's counting on you, you know. Somebody needs you to stand up and walk through that open door. Who? Maybe you don't know. Why? Maybe you don't care. But somebody needs you. Do you stay in your seat, safely wedged in between a woman who won't shut up about everything she's unhappily accomplished in life and a man who grunts when he eats? Or do you step outside?
If you can feel the wind whipping through your hair, forcing your eyes shut, you're probably wondering why the Hell you didn't stay in your seat. Yeah, the door was open, but that didn't mean you had to walk through it. Did you make a choice for the sake of choice? Does being weightless even matter?
How many times have you counted on someone to save you? Can you remember the feeling, the desperate smile creeping across your face, when somebody took your hand and walked you across the street? Have you ever returned the favor? Was the wind in your hair? Were you kept waiting for the weather to change?
When was the last time a promise to you was kept? Are you flying... falling... alone? Maybe you're not wanted, save for as a memory. The idea of you is better than you yourself could ever be. An image faded by a sun resisting the horizon. A song silenced by a wind running away from the storm. The undeniable reality of a woman still talking and a man wiping his chin.
Go out on a limb once in a while... somebody's there for you, you know. Somebody actually wants you to stand up and jump out that door. Who? You probably don't care. Why? If you don't care, how could you know? Why do you fall with your arms outstretched? Are you trying to fly? Or are you reaching for something?
What if nothing's there? Are you going to regret hitting the ground? Or are you going to tell the person beside you what you do for a living? Do you pray for feathers and hollow bones? Perhaps there's no shame when the other birds laugh at you. It was shame that brought you here in the first place... shame in the face of being alone.
But you're probably like the rest of us, still in your seat. Staring at the open door with more than a hint of fear. The woman speaking to you with words of one meaning but the sad and lonely emotion of another. You've listened enough.
Standing in the door, smiling, the wind whipping through your hair. Someone begs you not to leave. Why? You really don't care. Who? You gave up trying to figure that out long ago. Maybe it's somebody who truly loves you, or maybe it's somebody who's merely curious. More likely it's someone who's upset that you've abandoned everything they could not.
All you know is that the wind feels good as it carries you to the ground. All is not lost, because all has been given away. One way or another, it will be over soon. And there are other planes to catch.
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