Last Flight

Last Flight

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This is my last flight back to Barcelona before I move back to Ireland for good. I am trying to steady my life, find its balance. The back and forth, never being anywhere long enough to find a rhythm isn’t sustainable. So I’m stopping that, for the sake of balancing my life, and the chemicals that course through me.

I hate being hungover. I’m not hungover now but I hate the aftermath of it. The way it drains us and hollows us out. The emptiness it creates. At what stage has anyone said that this feeling is worthwhile? It isn’t. But it is ignorable. I suppose that’s how people deal with it so often.

There are so many things to keep up with. So much energy needed to maintain a status quo. Sometimes I feel we’re all pretending. I don’t want to sound cynical, nihilistic, even. But it would be nice to know that everyone is as lost sometimes as I feel. There’s a loneliness in the pretence, which could be dissolved by honesty.

How are you? When is the last time you answered honestly? All of these thoughts are dramatized by tiredness. I know this. I know they’re not true, or at least not full. They’re half-truths. But it’s still nice to note them, to understand their curvature. Because there’ll be different days when I feel better, and I’ll feel better again for being far away from these feelings now.