Transfer

Land in a fog, you sense the chill before you feel it on your skin. Is this summer? You drag warmer layers from your bags with a sigh. The language around you sings at a different timbre, it’s like a soft open to where you are going: a little kinder, a little happier, a little less a reminder of the ways you have left behind. As long as you are in transit, you are untouchable; as long as you are still attached to this ticket you can pretend that there aren’t unanswered questions in your gut, that you do not live every step of your life in fear that they will never be answered in full. Perhaps that’s all love is, then, a brief moment where we can believe there is no uncertainty, that there is objective truth. I was meant to be with you, that is all.

A gate is announced across the terminal. I gather my belongings, take a deep breath. Imagine the answer is love (is love, is love, is love, is love), and love is a ticket you carry with you always.