I like to wander on airports. I like to walk up and down the long winding corridors of airports. I like to walk listening to my favourite music and just observe the great exodus. Thousands of souls trying to get to somewhere. I like to observe people, their faces, their general being, so to speak. I imagine a world beyond mine, a world where the great, deep and dark ocean that separates me from others doesn’t exist, a world where I am non existent and where I am just an observer.
Everyone is beautiful on airports and Everybody must have a story I am sure.
A lone girl sitting on the bland airport chairs. She is reading a book. I cannot make out which book but, I think it’s a suspenseful fiction. She looks about 30 and full of life. She has black hair that shines under the cool white impersonal light of LED lamps. Her long and oblong face is particularly beautiful but with a hint of quirky ugliness. Her eyes, dark black are deep. They speak of a complicated yet comical story. She is wearing a jet blue sweater and faded denim jeans. Her shoes are quite different, they are leather and ankle length. A little worn out but still in good shape. Who is this person, my mind wonders. Maybe she is a mother with 2 young kids. Maybe she is a single mother. She is perfect but her smile hides emotional pain. The imperceptible worry lines on her forehead fade away near her balanced and elegant eyes. Her lips are thin and scrounged up together. She is holding them tighter than they deserve. Bleep, bleep, I think her phone is ringing. She looks at the screen and with wave pure unadulterated anger shoves her phone back into the micro black hole that she carries around in her tiny little brown bag. She looking back at the book, staring into a fixed point on the book. She is not reading, she is deep in her thoughts. Maybe she is thinking if her life was different, maybe a happier one. Maybe she is thinking why does she always screw-up. She looks disappointed, all the beauty in her face has now disappeared and all that remains is a sense of disbelief, disdain and vagrant calamitous anger
As I walk further, a young man, probably in his mid twenties. He is talking on the phone and I am sure he is talking to a girl who loves him. The smile on his face and the radiance in his manner is all there on display like a naked slave for everyone to see. The air around him seems to be happy too. He is tall, thin yet athletic and he is wearing a cool blue t-shirt with a pair of beige trousers. His shoes are brown leather. He is almost lounging on the dull and chiropractic airport chair, quite a feat in itself. I can feel his happiness. I was young and in love a long time ago. I feel his happiness, excitement, vigour and warmth. I say to him, telepathically ofcourse, have a great life man.
So many people, so many stories all unimaginably intertwined.