I am somewhere over Mongolia, at an altitude of 10,973m. There are millions of stars shining brilliantly against the dark sky. The hum of the aeroplane’s engines has lulled most onboard to sleep though I have evaded its clutches and sit presently gazing out of the small oval window.
It is now that I realise I have not escaped the spell. A decade on – thousands of kilometres away from the complexities and power games of this entanglement – a part of me yearns to be free but I am still connected.
I am not released.
It has taken me this long to rebuild myself; I’m reluctant to feel that heartache again.
What, if anything, is within my reach?