Missing
Missing that sense of wonder. Missing that need to write and create and thinking up non-practical things.
Remember vague scraps of the dreams of the past, remember telling myself to remember but nothing has come out of that.
Sitting at the airport gate lounge till my feet succumb to pins and needles, breathing the treated air till it hurts the nose. The woman there looks like white Michael Jackson.
Another disco voice announced dead over the news, who are you? (googled and found: Robin Gibbs, of the Bee Gees)
Boarding call now, complete with screeching feedback. Time to fly again.
