The row of plastic chairs, the ones bolted together with the metal armrests you can't lift, so you can't lie down. You are furious at them right now. You will spend twenty minutes on this exact stretch of blue vinyl, drinking a coffee that cost too much, watching the departures board flicker, and you will think of this morning as wasted time.
Look around at it once, properly. The man asleep against his backpack. The floor buffer humming somewhere down by the far gates. The way the whole terminal is lit up bright as noon while it's still dark outside the glass, and how nobody has anywhere to be yet, so everyone is just quietly waiting together in the pale light.
You were about to go somewhere. You didn't know it yet, but you were young and your knees didn't ache and you could carry your own bag up the jet bridge without stopping halfway. You had a whole trip in front of you, unspent.
I would give a great deal to be tired in an airport at 5am again. To have that much still ahead. So drink the bad coffee slowly. When they call your row, don't rush the crowd.
You'll get there.