Within a Sky Full of Earth

On the way to Europe, on the plane, has I was approaching ground, I remembered the exact time when I have been on this very same flight. It happened last year, in July. I traveled together and we stopped over in Paris just for a while.
On the magazine set into my seat pocket, on the map of the city, I traced my mind with the tip of my finger the places where we were at the time.
The ways we took. The streets, the crossovers, the bridges. The walkbies. Things we did. Places where we ate, where we laughed, where we stare at with intangible pleasure. People we saw, objects we touched. Odors we sensed. The wonderful landscapes.
It was a great short time. And now I realized how it was important to have done it. Even if we were on the middle of a full day journey, filled with 'jetlag' on our belts, it was an experience of much significance.
Things we live shortly sometimes go directly to the border between the midst of our dreams and our real memories - what is pretty much the same - and afterwards we can get notice of them only on the realms of time, when they're gone, on the plains of solitude.
When I slipped my finger across the figurative map of Paris, on flight AF 0185, I realized the compelling fascination of my vivid memories hitting me wildly with a certain type of love and plenitude, living self handed every little step again, mixed with bliss' tears and joy.

On those moments you realize how Life is such a beautiful place to be.