Monday, on an airplane

Sometimes we long for nothing more then to runaway, into ourselves and close the door to the world. Wanting to (or fearing to) see the world a certain way. But when we are forced to be with each other we view life in a broader way. Sitting here I see a wide variety, a girl who cuts (her bracelets don't cover the scars) young parents, businessmen who never look comfortable outside an office building, a single dad taking his girls to Disneyland, for them everything is new; the smells the aches in the ears the feeling when the plane tilts. The baby is playing with the pop-can (clush, tush) then giggles. Here we are on common ground of sorts, for a little while at least are fates are tied-up together like a bundle of balloons floating through the sky. Maybe here in this cabin I can plea for humanity, for peace. What would happen if I stood and begin to speak? Would they listen? What is going through their heads? Does anybody care? Can the baby feel the broken lives? Is that why she is crying? Why aren't I crying? From the window I can see city lights flickering through the clouds. The crying has stopped. I wish it was that easy.