The Second Letter From The Hot Air Ballooner

(If you haven’t read the previous letter, you can do so at

My dear friend,

It has been a week since I started flying towards the Himalayas. As I write this letter to you, there’s an endless sea below me, and the moon is full, bright, and slightly orange-ish. Aided by the moonlight, I can see two fishing boats nearby. It’s gorgeous.

It’s not rosy as it sounds though: I’m all alone. Once in a while, an airplane passes by; birds often visit. But, what the hell, I can’t talk with them! I think I’m going mad. Or maybe, I am mad: I talk to myself, sleep by myself, reason with myself, argue with myself, enjoy the sight by myself. When the hot air balloon’s machinery needs fixing, I fix it by myself after I land it on the ground—and of course, I fly it by myself after that.

There are plenty of canned foods, dried berries, and nuts here, but I eat alone. I often think of those times when we had dinner together. Perhaps we can have one again after I finish this trip.

Until then.

—The Hot Air Ballooner