A journey within a journey. I’m driving when, suddenly, the rusty scent of kerosene from the car ahead reaches me. I jump to an airport terminal. I’m calmly watching through the glass as they prepare the plane.
I jump again. I’m climbing the stairs that lead me into the unknown, into surprise, into excitement, to the gift waiting for its ribbon to be pulled.
Another. This one is a mixture of stale air and tobacco. It takes me to a person, to a room. A photograph without faces. Their company. Laughter and conversations, vague as the murmur of the waves.
What is the language of the waves? Their swaying, their ebb and flow, the cradle that rocks me tenderly.
A moment from long ago that remains present in my memory, unchanged like a photograph. The image is gone now, but its essence remains intact.
That friend who carries me back to the essence.
A reminder of what was dear to me.