As is my own personal tradition, I open the door quietly and walk onto the patio of my home on a cold winter night. Outside is the familiar view of Commencement Bay, with bright red lights soaring above the islands and peninsulas of Puget Sound, forever blinking as a warning to the planes soaring overhead. I light my cigarette, pondering life over a bit of vodka, as I've done countless times before.
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Its always dark when I come outside, my hand pale in the moonlight as I stare down at the burning tip of my cigarette.
What important thoughts I have thought out here. Feeling the cool breeze come in from the shore as I sit on an old chair is always the best part of my day. To the right of me is the Port of Tacoma, brightly lit as if it never saw the night, and to the left is my hometown of Gig Harbor, dark and self-forbidden. Even with these two sights before me I never fail to stare straight ahead, where past the horizon and into the clouds, the lights of Seattle permeate a pink glow in the otherwise blue night sky.
It's too dark to see any part but the coal of the cigarette. I can't tell if I've finished with it yet, and as I take the chance of sucking once last puff, I cough in disgust at the taste of the burning filter. I throw it to the ground and return my eyes to the water.
I see an intense ray of light shoot across the bay, caused by the impact of a plane's headlights. All I know of that plane is that it took off from Sea-Tac Airport, and in a few minutes it will be at cruising altitude and onwards to its destination. Its passengers, likely tired at this hour and apprehensive about being thousands of feet off the ground, each have their own lives and aspirations. How lucky they are to be on that plane, being taken out of this land as I so wish to be. Snacking on small bags on peanuts and sipping disposable cups of ice water, they are high above the chains of this city.
Each night this intense feeling of mine is repeated. If only I could be on that plane, being flown away to an adventure of my own. If only I could be rid of this town which, although is responsible for all of the joy in my life, is played out and useless to me now.
As my mind wonders into all of the possible destinations of this aircraft, the logical chunk of my brain throws me back into the reality of the situation. That plane is only a light in the sky. I won't be going anywhere for a long time. Tomorrow I will go to school, and then to work, with no dominant memories to stay with me more than a week. It'll be another normal day in the life, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
A harsh reality, but one I face every night. Maybe tomorrow will be different, and even though I know it won't, at least I can sit out here and hope once more.