happy place

The waiting room at the airport.

I use to go there when I’d feel lost or needed to hide from the world.

In high school I would break up with guys at the airport viewing center.

It became my place.

Eventually I moved to the inside where you can wait for someone to return from their trip.

It’s quiet, comfy and most of the time, empty.

You can stay there for hours and no one questions.

I loved watching the return of important people in others’ lives.

They are no one to most, but to the person they are coming home to, they’re someone.

I watch the warm loving embrace that always seems to last just a second too long.

Its outer worldly.

Like a peek into so many different stories than my own.

That was oddly peaceful and calming.

Reassuring almost.