A Jet Streaks Through the Sunset
When I was young, I always get fascinated by white trails of jets in the sky.
I would wave so hard an shout as the jet pass through the sky, leaving white trails that expands from a thin line to a wide trail of clouds until it becomes invisible.
Who could it be? Are they looking at us, can they see us too? Where are they going? I would ask myself, but never really had an answer.
They could be rich people, drinking alcohol mix and served with an expensive breakfast—like in the movies.
Or is it a rocket ship? Would it go to the moon, or to the stars and beyond? They could be leaving us on Earth.
Now that I'm older, I stopped waving and shouting, that's to childish, but the fascination still lingers whenever I see a white trail moving trough the sky.
Sometimes, I don't know why my old self went to places like this one—alone.
