The blue line jaunts westward in the solemn indigo night, jittery, with a few others with bags bundled at their feet. My luggage swells onto the main lane, wrapped tightly by my legs, the other two bags, one your borrowed me, huddled into my arms, warmly. You stare at nothing, head bobbing with the movements on the tracks, jiggling left and right, hair swooping like a wave. Light’s flash in and out from the widows, pale, as if ascending into the stars. It’s late, but you came anyway, to see my off. My mind is fuddled with thoughts and notions and lingering concepts that sound radical and unreal. I happen a joke or two, just to see that smile; it will be awhile till I see it again. Will we be just friends? Oceans apart in feelings due to the vast distance gapping us as we speak? I massage your palm with my thumb, fighting off a shudder. I will wait till I return to make that decision. You lean your head exhaustingly on my shoulder, but I feel cold. It’s chilly today.
We creep through the long corridors of O’Hare, seeking that plane that will see me off. The building is huge, teetering off in all direction, ad’s and billboards offering welcoming deals, and arrows trying to guide the way. We are lost in the soundscape of a lover’s ballad that has reached its third movement, suiting its autumn, with the leaves sifting colors, discordant deep flats perpetuate grimly in the atmosphere. You carry a few bags, I can see in your eyes, you have some pang you are trying to fight off, I offer nonchalantly a quib or two, but that doesn’t help. What can you see in my eyes? I hope it is the twinkle in my soul. I hope you realize I still love you. Few words are murmured between us, not waiting to give recognition of this moment. You find the right way, guiding me with your smile, not mentioning the lingering doubts you have about yourself or us. Other strangers litter the airport, some alone, some with family, or friends, as long as you are with someone. I glance at you, that primrose face grinding to stay hidden. Your incredulous smirk and shrug speaks volumes. I lug forward, heartfelt, hurried, tired-eyed, with Chicago glittering at a last hooray.
I capture you with a camera, capture us, but it’s fleeting. The people ascend in mass towards the security check-in, countless nobodies all going to a distant place, I wonder who they are leaving behind? We are forced in abnegation, subjected to the pain cringing in our souls at the comfort we will miss. Our loved one’s raise their hand one last time, defined by the other crowds doing the same, to me, to all, all those wanderers boarding life and pursuing it for that adventure, that new, that enlightenment that comes with being far. Isn’t it strange that something that gives us such great pleasure can also yield great pain? My arms engulf you, locked, protruding warmth, and love, and care, and horror, and fear, and longing, and absolute desire. You tightly bind my waist like a mountain climber grasping a rope for dear life. I try to block it, but rivers burst onto your curly locks, supplying it with the vitality for growth, your growth. My chest soaks up the water spewing from you, quenching my heart. I am focused on nothing but your presence, that feeling of completion as you wedge into my lower-half like a jigsaw piece. A stasis folds onto us, we live in that moment, and never leave. We whisper our last words. What were they? Our lips touch like virgins. My body turns unwillingly, legs push forward, this is it, I turn once and see you, rubbing beneath those cinnamon pearls, raising a hand, I tread more, glance back, your effaced by convivial terminal, and I stutter, stone-faced, immovable, lingering there...I am still waiting for you.
