Huntington Beach, California.
Driving down the Pacific Coast Highway on a late afternoon in February. This is the California of my youth. The scenery never fails to lull me into a faraway place of the deepest comfort. My eyes scan over the same patterns of light and reflection that fall into perfect alignment to the visions in my memory. The old familiar sensation warms my bones from within and soaks into the coldness of my skin. I am somehow at peace in this moment, despite the poignant awareness of my isolation.
A walk across the Galata Bridge. The first moment of satisfactory solitude since the flight. The memory of eternity’s imminence sends a jolt through my conscience and leaves a dull, uneasy buzzing in my head. I close myself in shallow pockets of distraction, only long enough for that insidious reminder to creep back into my mind, seizing my entire being.
Even from across the world, the chase resumes.