Fly Away

You sit on the grass, staring at the sky. There are the white clouds, there are the singing birds, there is the choking silence, there are your boring, every day ideas running around. And there, next to one cloud, the one that looks like fuck-cares, is a plane. You remember what they say about planes. Someone loves you... Then this tiny, useless thing becomes an obsession, a superstition, which starts to guide your life and which gives you hope. You start to feed on it, and every time you see a plane, you're all in a 'oh, someone loves me!' kind of mood.

But one day, you're going to travel by plane, you're going to be high in the sky, near the clouds which resemble as another fuck-cares, or maybe that person might give a fuck, next to somebody's running ideas, being a certain person's obsession, superstition, guider of life and giver of hope. A feeder for the soul. A noise for the silence.