The flying house

When you are on the road continuously, what starts to fade away? The place? The time? The shifts between day and night? between people and relationships? Who survives out in the open when an anchor does not hold?

You imagine this reality as a disturbing, fleeting thought — a wonder in wonderland, grasping at a dream that can never be true. And yet you are living it every day.

We phase in and out of reality, living in the blips of what is seen.

We shape our world around the environment that creates us to acknowledge the connection it holds, while all along, we don’t have a choice in the matter. As if accepting is the charade, and connection couldn't care less.

We see through our eyes, forgetting our highs lived in the unseen beauty of a faithful sigh that captured us whole and left us craving for more.

The flying house calls you to it. Never in one place. Never in a timezone but within time as a whole. Never in relation to one or more but to all. And overwhelming as that may sound, you never admit the dissonance in the alternative.

A home of agony dancy in the wind of suffering, asking for reprieve while constantly seeking a further form… of a sham of a loan to swindle you clean of the wholeness that doesn’t need a home, and on the wings of destiny that wants to let you free to sing flying and not a day dying.

Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~