I remember as the plane’s tires left the ground and we started to fly through a collection of clouds, I felt like I had left my heart behind. The only thing in my mind was a shy promise of “I’ll see you in a few months, okay?” That airport had never felt so empty and cold. I was flying home but it didn’t feel like home anymore. I now knew what they meant when they said home was a feeling, not a place. Home was a person, not a house. I wasn’t flying home, I was flying away from home. As my heart sank to the very bottom of myself, that summer sky gave me the most beautiful performance, a blend of sunset and heavy clouds. It’s like it knew it had to make up for the storm I was brewing inside, my feelings raining as I lost something I only had for a spare second. It was like a firework: beautiful, explosive — almost cosmic — but so brief you only really have time to lose your breath once, and then it’s gone. It was never strong enough to last.
