Hour 17

“Excuse me Ma’am may I get you a drink”

Her face young or was it the same, as mine?

Where were we?

Trapped in a metal box seeming to go somewhere

Clouds and land the size of pins

We’re flying

“Ma’am?”

“Coffee, please – and black” I jumble out

Taking in my surroundings

Coffee helps

No one else on this plane

How long have I been out?

I do not remember purchasing this flight.

Coffee helps

And the lady seemed to look just like me, twenty?

I do not remember much of anything

There was not much really to remember

What belongings did I bring?

Did I pack anything?

Surely I must have left some of the memories alone

To be dead and destructive for, no one else’s home

Perhaps it is I, no belongings, only carrying me

But then again waking up to reality

At thirty I can surely say I wasn’t driving this ship

Flying this plane

I’ve truly no idea how I got to this place

A miracle would be too hard to reach

Mentally, for some people

But it itself is an explanation when the first thought I have

After waking up in the middle of being here

At least, somewhere on this Earth

Is having an answer prepared for anyone who should ask

Old habits die hard it is best to simply repurpose the intent of them

I know coffee helps.  I know i’m alive and well, God is good and must be piloting.

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