The Condensation Line

Mornings, for me, are seldom this peaceful. It’s always not-enough-sleep this, wrong-side-of-the-bed that. Follow it up with a splash of leave-me-alone and it’s a dish not even worth throwing out. Erase its existence. This, on the other hand, was a dawn that just wouldn’t stop dishing out memories. From the crushing blow of losing my work session due to an update, to the outrageous brandy-sandwich breakfast at 4 am. From my first sunrise at 40,000 feet, to the disgust setting in from the bickering of co-passengers. The sinus infection and cabin pressure trying to blow my ears out. The ridiculous cab rates and the serene walk down a long near-deserted highway. The kindness of strangers, the comfort of healers, the conversations of the commoners, and everything in between. Every time I come here I feel like I’m being wrapped in a warm, fluffy, cloud-like, blanket with all the empathy and enthusiasm one would share with their child on holiday to their favourite destination. In the lap of luxury from the cradle of conformity, is all of this happening in the same day? The steam from this smoking series of events has condensed as a streak underneath the wall lamps in my room. I’m already tuned in for the next episode.


- Drip slow, without haste. Linger, while I take it all in.