Houston

America feels so clean. It's hard to describe, really, how just stepping off the plane and looking at perfect little white clouds on a brilliant cerulean sky just feels cleaner than the dull gray skies of Kiev, the dim green skies of Frankfurt. There is just this freshness in the air, this ambiance of light and polished tiles and asphalt for miles. And grass. Oh, my word. Real, lush green grass flooding up to the sidewalk. I just want to kick off my flats and dance around and fall oh happily onto the lawn outside the airport, under the big blue Texas sky, and deflate in relief to be back on sturdy US soil. This has been a hard trip, you see. The trip home - it was a breeze. I hardly felt any fatigue, every connection was smooth and effortless, the bus ride even mercifully uneventful. But coming back here? It must be God's hand because the adversity has been incredible. After a grueling, sweltering bus ride all day and night, rank with the smell of fermented vodka seeping from the pores of the fat Russian man behind me, America is beautiful. It is perfect. Except that you are here... and the memory of all we were. And the reality of your betrayal. You left me, Levi, and you never came back. Maybe you never will. You made me a promise, a pinky promise, and you sealed it with a kiss. I trusted you... with all my heart. And I can pray you come back, but no matter what I do here... America is so beautiful, and yet, it is so empty now.