Airports make me sad. Invariably, every time. As I sit waiting in the passenger lounge, I wonder what airports stand for. Beginning and endings. Going back to someone who would urge to text the moment you land. Airports make me melancholy. The texts get lost with winds somehow. Or the sender does. As if the mists engulf him, he vanishes from reality, erasing every trace of his ever being present. Airports remind me of how people get lost in the whirlpool, get swallowed up and never surface again. Perhaps sometimes it heralds adventures, discovery, memories, present and past. Airports do stand for memories too. Not just broken ones. I sit here in a semi empty lounge, waiting for the gates to open. To swallow people in. Where would a lone traveler like me go? Are there messages waiting at the other end? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Who could tell what a journey would yield. Beginning and endings run in loops sometimes. As people say, life comes full circles. Airport stand somewhere on that diameter. An empty gate and an equally empty outlet into the end.
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