The Wind Is Calling
The sea breeze lifts a strand of hair: a sign, perhaps, that it's time to leave. The training plane takes off and flies towards Roissy, then Bangkok. Between the fading landscapes and the roar of the engines, everything dissolves: my bearings, my certainties, my beloved faces.
Letting myself be carried by the wind towards the unknown, a mixture of promises and the open sea.
Through the porthole, the sea and the clouds exchange roles; I no longer know where the Earth ends or where the sky begins.