There is fiction in the space between ~Tracy Chapman

Here Comes The Sun

The space between days 19 June 2009 and 20 June 2009, warped to time travel just a bit as we chase the Sun. It wore pinks and dreamy-creamy blues to our farewell party outside Newark, appropriately luminous and cheerful. We fly on the breath of this Sun’s laughter. Limbo, or purgatory, have always held a perception of negative connotation and anxiety; anxiety actualized when limbo becomes a real life practice. But Here is nice. Here is where I’m supposed to be in this Here undefined. I’m looking at the world through delirious insomnia rose coloured glasses and it accentuates the blood burn crimson, faded to azure, then deepened to navy black, that the Sun has now adorned with a Mona Lisa smile of knowing and knowing I’ve no idea. I have a strange peace with it all, a tranquillity I never expected to find mid-six hour flight in the middle seat yet there it trembles in its existence. I think the apparition is because I’m finally learning how to run with Fate instead of away from it or tackling it. You see—I believe in Fate. I believe in the power of the human entity to take what will happen regardless of the individual’s action and either fuck it up or make it incredible beyond what individual’s or Fate’s power could do singularly.

To cut through the flowery petals to the root: some things happen and turn out so well you can’t believe you really wielded any part of it, my peace in purgatory is from a long since lost inner initiative. I’m delightedly frightened by the potential of the resource I’ve finally been able to tap into.