The radio voice mumbles irrelevant thoughts. I’m driving on the wet M56, driving until exit five. Four airports to go until the next smile from her. I’m longing for a glimpse of my blue eyed demon. Farewell, farewell land of shadows. The sky will never go out on me. Researchers say "it’s all chemical, eventually it will pass". Poets say "you can’t truly feel alive until you love somebody". Did science keep my plane from crashing in Shremetievo? Did poetry help safely landing my mind? Science is blind, but poetry is totally undiscerning.
 

M.Daedalus