Before it was all over,

and even now, there was this feeling that hung in the air, like smoke on the mist—you know—after a fire gets put out somewhere in the woods, or in TV when it’s early and you can actually see the air and everyone labors for breath, because it’s colder than it was, but it’s still humid. That feeling was always there after you left a room, or got out of my car, or climbed from my bed, naked and went to the door to use the bathroom. So I shouldn’t be surprised that now I get that same feeling. The feeling that suggests that you’re there, on the periphery just a few steps from coming back—that you’re not really gone.

A transcontinental flight leaves every 8 minutes according to the federal aviation administration. I could be on any number of flights.

Written by Michael Waskom, inspired by the lovely studio54, to which she replied.

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