Airports, man.

We sat in the airport for 3 hours waiting. 

Just sitting there. 

Waiting.

And waiting. 

Hundreds of people walked past in front of us, some quicker than others.

Some more exhausted than others. 

A man ran past me knocking my notebook and bags out of my hands. 

He was turning around shouting his apologies when I noticed the box in his hand

 perfectly small enough

 to fit a ring in it. 

An old man walked aimlessly around with his walker trying to decide where to eat while a woman was being pushed past him in a wheelchair holding an ice pack to her head telling stories of  her grandchildren to the man in uniform pushing her. 

A greasy man in a suit coat eating a sandwich talked with his mouth full loudly into his headphone mic about the account he still needed to check up on. 

A man in dreadlocks only carrying a worn out backpack with flag pins from all over walked slowly around and around.

And I wonder what kind of things he's seen.

Everyone talks too loudly into their phones in airports. 

And it smells strong of coffee everywhere. 

No one speaks to anyone, like they'll get a 0 on the test if the teacher catches them talking.

And everyone crowds in awkward groups around wall outlets. 

People have these certain walks about them.

Like they know exactly where they're going and what they're doing.

 Some walk in cautious ways like they have no clue what's going on
and might break down any second. 

While others walk with sleep tugging on the ends of their shirts
 like they haven't shut their eyes in weeks.

The business men walk in harsh steps like they would spit on you the second
you got in their way.

And the elderly don't even walk,

they ride.

People have these ways of walking that tells you a story about them.
And some people, don't have walks at all
because when they see loved ones waiting at the end of the escalator they run.


They run.

Colliding.

Embracing.

Smiling.

There's a beauty to airports,
A way for people to reunite.

But there's also an annoyance to it.

Everyone has their own life and their own schedule.

 And nothing better happen to slow that down.

And when there's no one waiting at the bottom of that escalator they rush on.
Moving on to their next gate, their next flight.
Because there's always another flight, and there's always another place to be.
Life always has another assignment to get done, another test to study for,
another dance to be asked to.

Or at least you hope you get asked...
And you hope you do well on your test
even though you studied for approximately 6 minutes the night before....

There's stress pushing our feet forward
expectations to be met
deadlines to beat.
And rules to follow.

I want to put an end to this ridiculousness.

I want to ask people questions, 

I want to hear their stories.

I want to offer the sleeping zombies of airports my pillow. 

I want to know how that man is going to propose to his fiancé.

And I want to make sure that old woman is going to be alright.  

I                

            

w             

a         

n    

t

t          

o      

s               

l          

o     

w

d             

o        

w   

n