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Plane Ride

The coffee on the plane was good and it made me cry. I wiped my eyes on one of the square napkins with a texture of toilet paper. My makeup was smudged. I could see how I would look in a mirror, red eyes from lack of sleep, and bits of eyeliner hanging unwanted under drooping, saggy bags. I turned away from my reflection in my mind and instead looked out the oval shaped window. A great expanse of white clouds stretched forever to the corners of nothingness. I wanted to free fall into it, feel the sharp tingling cold, feel my feet chaterring and my heart shattering again and again in all the surround white. I opened up the white lid of my coffee and opened up a small splatic carton of creamer and poured the too- white creamer into the darker coffee and opened up a pack of white granulated sugar. I poured that in too, and I could almost see the particles, the pieces, drift slowly to congregate peacefully on the bottom of the cardboard cup. A sip of coffee and a light brown drop landing on this white paper and staining and spreading and making dirty after one hour in the plane.





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