plastic airports

you took your time saying goodbye. the man who keeps smoking a cigarette in a ‘no smoking’ area, the young mother who is exhausted trying to hush her little son, the old lady who is finally taking that vacation her deceased husband bought the tickets for, and the far too lucky celebrity drinking bourbon. they were all celebrating a mayhem. i saw the way your lips curled into a sad smile, as if procrastinating on the wretched word would prevent the inevitable. you went on to buy the overpriced coffee while i waited with your luggage. one last gesture. there is pain in every breath and if doctors had me examined, i would be rushed to an ICU. i think my entire life was a buildup to this point. i believe this is my mark between the before and the after. you remind me that you will be back soon enough. but you see, i have lost people on these plastic airports. people who promised they’d return but found death a bit too beautiful and life a bit too dry for their taste. you remind me that the waves have to leave the shore, farther, to increase their intensity when they come back to crash. you remind me of boomerang that always comes back. of the home that still stands. people come back, you remind me. they always do, just not the same people. sometimes, i want to burn the damned airports. there is too much plastic about them.