I still have trouble sleeping.
Don’t know if I am 6 hours behind - or in advance.
I have stress-induced skin rashes.
And my ears will ring for days after a flight.
My belongings are in two rooms.
Separated by an Ocean.
Sometimes I found myself speaking in English when I’m home.
And in my mother tongue when I’m abroad.
I’ve alienated from me my precious love.
And gained heart bruises for all the time I gazed at the photo of you and I.
I’ve met stress and despair and red-eyeness at the airports.
Especially in the lounge restroom mirror.
I lost myself in a cup of coffee with my name on it.
In a Country where it’s difficult to pronounce it.
Will I do it again? Would like to change it for a 9-5, desk job?
Give me that boarding pass.
Alarm clock. The shower. The breakfast. My work clothes. My smartphone. The company phone. My laptop. The travel bag.
The car. The airport. The fly.
The documents. The badges. The patches on all cameras.
My job. My pride. My everything.