You held on for a really long time. I watched. You had your arms around her and your face was in her hair and you didn't say anything, you just stood there while other people walked around you with their little rolling suitcases.
I used to think airports were the best place in the whole world. Remember? The moving floors. The tiny soaps in the bag. The way the plane pushed you back into your seat like a big hand. You said someday we would go everywhere. You made a list once, on the back of a menu.
But this doesn't look like the list. This looks like it hurts.
Who is she? I don't know her but you love her, I can tell, because you kept touching her face like you were trying to memorize it before the light changed. That's a thing you do when something matters. You did it with the dog. You did it with the ocean the first time.
Then she went through the gate and you stood there. You waved even after she couldn't see you anymore. You waved at a door.
I didn't know it was possible to love somebody that much. I thought grown-ups just shook hands and carried briefcases. I thought the sad part of being big was that nothing would feel this big.
I was wrong about that. Good.
But hey. When you get home tonight, tired, sad, all of it, can you still get the window seat next time? Can you still press your face to the glass when the ground drops away? I need to know you didn't stop watching the clouds.
Tell me you still watch the clouds.