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Maybe I underestimated you and for sure you’ve overestimated me. I assumed that you would have the capacity to think of me as more than a flight attendant fling or uncommitted counterpart. “It’s
The distinct piano notes, interrupted by beats and lyrics, carried a clear message through the dimly lit Parisian apartment. “Let’s have a toast for the assholes. Let’s have a toast for the scumbags…Runaway
The hurt reminiscent of a break-up claws deep within me; begging for an avenue of escape. Words— which I so often use to break sadness, clear confusion, or portray hope and happiness—feel grossly beyond
I sit alone in my Danish apartment. Staring from left to right, and then back again, as soft music beats from a speaker in the kitchen. I’m snuggled under a blanket, on my Danish couch, in my Danish
My Note: I don’t know if this blog goes here, but I didn’t want it to go somewhere else because I really hoped that you would see it and read it and feel it. Thank you for listening.
(One of the things I have been most grateful for as a flight attendant is the fact that I have met— and become friends with— some of the most amazing and inspiring humans I could ever imagine. This
To you—I hope that you don’t read this, because I think it’s a hard thing to read that you are being talked about instead of talked to; so tread softly, take the words lightly, and simply know that
The day that Jade sent me this poem, I found an email in my inbox with the following words. I had been wondering when she would write again and hoping she would. I love Jade’s
I wish I knew when I would see you again.
Do I matter to you? I think so, but I can’t tell with flight attendant life. Every moment feels so precious and so fleeting because we move so fast. I’m
if you find yourself with a man who wears his anger like a bruise
left long ago by his stepfather’s fist
and his first wife’s infidelities
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