it’s peculiar how intimate even short distance flights can be; strangers bound for the same city only separated by their sensibilities. between the date being a numerological eight and mercury still in retrograde the fates were already against me;
the air hostess was still dancing her safety-instructions when we took off, he was two rows down and across but barely more than a meter away.
flight time; one hour and twenty minutes, thats 80, eight again and your captain for today is jose hernando correira, we will now serve snacks and drinks from the in-flight menu that you can find in the seat pocket in front of you.
she was like a bird with her tight uniform, high brows set above her round eyes with hair feathered back into a tick not; they flutter as she hands me the bottle of water and a clear plastic glass. he orders the same and a packet of nuts which he opens noisily. i can’t help looking as he absentmindedly reaches for one, holds it gently between his fingers and slowly delivers it to his mouth, impatiently i wait for the next one, and the next until he’d finished them and opened his water bottle; only when his lips touch the mouth of the bottle do i look away.
always turbulence over the alps; my empty bottle topples to the floor and rolls to his seat. for a moment he is distracted, he turns into my apologetic face, he smiles and is just about to hand it to me across the isle when he notices it’s empty, he nods at me and places my empty bottle next to his on the fold-out tray table.
where is my love?
is he sleeping?
i am in love with a dream,
no wonder i’m awake all night.
two days later i see him at an opening, he doesn’t recognise me but then i was of course wearing something else.