The airport felt endless, with ceilings so high they disappeared into clouds of light. I didn’t remember buying a ticket, yet here I was, suitcase in hand and passport trembling between my fingers. My name echoed faintly over the loudspeakers, as if the world itself was calling me forward.

Outside the windows, planes rose like silver birds into a dawn that looked too clean to be real. My chest tightened with both fear and wonder. I wasn’t running from anything, but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was heading toward either.

When they called my flight, something inside me whispered that this was it, the beginning of something that would never let me go back to who I was. My steps were slow but steady, the carpet humming beneath my shoes, the air heavy with the scent of coffee, jet fuel, and departure.

The plane was small, almost fragile, like it had been stitched together from old dreams. I found my seat beside the window. The clouds outside drifted lazily, like ghosts waiting for permission to move. The seatbelt clicked, the engine stirred, and suddenly gravity loosened its grip.

As the ground fell away, my fear rose to meet it. Cities turned to patterns, rivers to threads, the world to a soft blur of distance. My palms were cold. Yet through the fear, there was a pulse, an ache of excitement, like the first breath before a confession.

I watched the horizon curve and realized I was flying not just to another country, but away from the version of myself I no longer needed to be. Each mile in the sky felt like a page turning. The air shimmered with everything I hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to dream.

At some point, I closed my eyes. In the dark behind them, I saw moments of my old life, the walls I’d built, the faces I’d left behind, the quiet longing that had always whispered that there must be more. Then, slowly, that voice turned into something clearer: there is.

When the plane began to descend, the light shifted. The new land below was painted gold by the setting sun, strange and alive, waiting. My fear didn’t vanish, but it softened, melting into something almost holy. The engines roared, the wheels touched the unknown, and for the first time in a long while, I smiled.

It didn’t matter what awaited me beyond the gate. What mattered was that I’d left the shore of my old life behind, that I had dared to take flight, trembling wings and all.

Beginnings are rarely comfortable. They are terrifying, beautiful leaps into skies we’ve never seen, and that’s what makes them real.

genuinely sorry

ᴅɪsᴄᴏʀᴅ:dekadenss
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genuinely sorry

𝙈𝙮𝙨𝙥𝙮𝙨