NOTA: Este y el otro journal entry que vino antes de este son pedazos de una novela que escribi para NaNoWriMo 2006. Llegue a la meta de 50,000 palabras pero nunca la termine. Algun dia. Por ahora si revelando pedazos de ella. Disfruten.


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You can't really see him. He's ducking down as he checks his shoes, lightly rubbing the dust out of them. Sitting quietly on one of the many rows of seats, he's back to a normal position, looking at the emerging sun in the distance. A solitary employee cleans the glass, turning the botched red and orange marks into a crystal clear picture. "I knew I should have taken my camera", he mutters as he feels his stomach pounding lightly, signaling the arrival of the morning breakfast routine. He looks at his watch, 5:56 AM, and takes another look at the wide airport bay around him. A gigantic "11" hanging above him serves as an entry to heaven, or so he thinks, he's a little unsure about such things. But he does think of the scene, as a literal translation of what heaven must be, and what will not await him at the end of his time, if there is a god. He chuckles as he continues his gaze. A businessman casually reading over a newspaper is seated in front of him in another row of seats. But aside from the lowly employee, they are the only souls around these parts. He looks at his belongings. A notebook sits on his lap. Often used for scribbling lyrics, it hasn't been getting much use of late. As it should be, recording an entire album is a taxing event on the mind. Only comforting sounds now go on the notebook. This airport may be one of those, he's not entirely sure yet. On the seat beside him is a bag, Inside it, not much, a pair of shoes, a few night clothes, toothbrush, comb, glasses, some old new age book he's taken interest in lately. He doesn't find much interest in modern literature, but he'll gladly take anything old. He feels old, sometimes it's hard to look at that license and think he's thirty-seven. Rather not feel anything. Pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, he takes out two photographs. A woman adorning each picture greets him. One has short light blonde hair, spotting a shy smile and turning your heart into mush with big hazel eyes. The other has jet-black long hair, curls turned straight by the almighty iron, dark eyes and a full teeth smile. They're both blissful in their own ways.