Monday evening at the brand new airport, the great hall is quiet, save for regular boarding announcements and lost umbrellas at security. You are three hours early, a flight to Albuquerque sits at the end of your gate, but you are not concerned. For years you've been coming to this red eye, been tired and impatient but ready to greet New York at sunrise, it feels like home, still.
Adrenaline coursing through my veins, a room emptied, a season changed. Goodbyes always were your weakest spot, they tear and ache in you and make you think that you never want to set yourself up for goodbyes again. But you know you don't mean it, you know you will keep digging and digging at the things that hurt because don't they also give you the chance to bloom?
One day, I think, one day I will build a life without goodbyes, will be all have and no have-not, but I know I don't mean that either, because at the end of that dark night sky is a bevy of stars, and to leap to one means to leap from another. At the other end of this flight lies a city that feels like stars and that makes you feel weightless, at the other end of this flight lies a hello that is worth more goodbyes than you can count, and you know it is true,
because of all
the goodbyes you've said
to reach it.
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