Perspectives
Islands, isn'tlands?
To hell with "ocean", "waters" and "seas", isn'tlands has got it goin' on.
From the air, large lakes look like chunks of fallen sky. From the grassy slopes near the Hobart docks, the sky above is myopic, claustrophobic in its immense nearness, and I feel as though I could twirl the clouds in my little finger. And from far, I can frame the Petronas Towers between my thumb and forefinger. That thing is, I swear, only half an inch tall.
Perspectives, huh.
What's harder to believe is that I passed through all those sentences in twelve hours, transcended timezones and distances so great that they mock the destinations. And now I'm here, curled over a keyboard and missing a perspective of the world that's constantly framed by his mischievous grin. It's never been stranger having an empty, alien periphery.
But most importantly, from my current perspective underneath the Departures notice boards, I can see that if I don't get to the gate in about 10 minutes, I shall not only be missing my little caffiend, but my flight as well.