You love airports. They terrify me. All this blank shiny space swallowing me as I stand trying to look nonchalant, sheltered by a pillar, picking my nails, rocking on my heels, reminding myself not to run – I’ll trip. Not to go straight for your face – it’ll end in a headbutt. My heart flops out of my chest, running to the sheen of glass and metal, smacking into the sliding doors for every pair of feet descending, for every well-dressed man that could be you and isn’t. And this heart slouches back again to get a real good run-up.
We will always be putting each other on planes – itchy feet demand departure and fresh soil. The world is too wide to stand still in and it is constantly moving. We will always be putting each other on planes, spinning in and out of each other’s orbit. But maybe that means we’ll always be arriving too.