Hook

The last sunset over the seaside village is breathtaking. The water has that soft soothing sound that makes you sleep so well, but when morning comes, your mind runs a hundred races before breakfast. You climb aboard the tiny plane to the co-pilot's seat and watch the mainland approach under your feet. The pilot was overly tan and mumbled carelessly, as I thought of the impossibility of flying, and how sometimes I don't want to ever land. 

Goodbyes are heart-wrenching when they wash over you, but the moments the doors close aren't you elsewhere already and the tides give way to an icy chill. 

Perhaps we are not the masters of our own destiny, as we imagine. Perhaps every day we're fighting the current to reach an imaginary shore, when we'd do better to simply ride the wave and let it carry us to beaches we never knew could be found. 

You end up gasping for air, regardless.