Plugged

on

Your lips are moving, a question perhaps, but all is silent in my ears. Lending my other ear, you speak again, still no sound.

You motion what you need, hesitate and wait until the seatbelt sign has turned off. I motion back to you when I hear the ding, which you thankfully retreat, losing yourself beyond 32B.

Sleep deprived, we finally land, the combination of head cold, elevation, and earwax still keeping me at bay from engaging in society.

Patiently awaiting my next flight, tired began to signal its own surrender; one yawn after another, the world began to have a voice.

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