flight await

Laying in the thick warm night air, watching the hours tick from night to day, one land to another, & the thought of returning to an old world.
So much to think of.
Eric Satie wrote The Gymnopedies in Paris, in 1888, & here I am, in the depth of night, listening to them, with tears edging forward, their salty touch inside eyelashes, & the sensation of water droplets rolling over these warm sad cheeks, till I taste them & they drip onto the glass below.
I think it could be the most heavenly song I have heard, & even so, it is a music of sadness.
There is so much pain & beauty in this world. I do not understand it.