I couldn't email it.

I want to share something I wrote on the plane yesterday. But it is really "serious". I don't want it to scare you, hopefully it wont.

Cotton clouds stamp shadows on these sprawling lands. Dirt road winds and tar highways snake, lakes of shimmering sun. I'm flying back to you.

How happy can I show you I am? How long can I tell you it's been? Can I attest to you: extraordinary? Can I tell you truly?

These miles quickly pass and people below I'll never know go about breathing and dreaming, and loving. For them, I imagine, the barriers between an unhindered embrace are thinner than this atmosphere. Taking for granted the air they breath.

But not me. Cutting atmosphere and plunging through, I would dive down at speed toward you, on the land stamped with cotton cloud shrouds.

Money, culture, age, ambition, distance, career, race... pressure this air to liquid and see it slip into cracks, catch all you can.

If I do, would you pack me a chute of hope and affection? I was wondering, in this way, would you let me down softly? Else, my heart-sleeves shatter on the ground. Would you watch me descend, passing layers of high piled clouds and smaller fluffs of inert white back-striped with sharp strips of stratospheric ice. Would you open your arms and put my heart-sleeves 'round you? Bring me down.

Am I falling too fast toward you, toward the ground?