The Terminal

It’s like you’re standing in an airport terminal, waiting for the one you love. 

Your eyes scan through the crowd with purpose and dilligence, looking for those trademark rosy red cheeks and that warm smile. But instead, your eyes are filled with the sight of tired, weary looking travellers, none of which resembling who you are looking for. Therefore, you wait.

The automatic doors swoosh open, and the next set comes through. The sea of shining faces, let it be known that this party is one of pity, or remorse, or even mourning. The one you’re looking for is not there. So, you wait.

This sight is a little more shocking—a cluster of faces tinted a plethora of reds from mild to deep. You can hear, too, the discontent in their voices, ranging from hushed tones to megaphone—esque announcements to anyone willing to listen. Buttons are being pushed incessantly, and you can almost feel the numbers burning off keys as if the patterns are being seared into your own fingers. Cell phones are obviously not working in the terminal. You suppose they will have to wait to gain contact with anyone, just like how you are waiting to see that one face. Just waiting.

Now, this group seems like they will be the last, and man, are they loud. You prepare to clasp your hands over your ears so as not to have to listen to all the negativity, but right before doing so you realize there is something different about this bunch: their hoots and hollers are ones of happiness and joy, celebration and smiles all around. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything like this in a long while. And she is among them, right in the centre, always the strong pillar, exactly as you remember. Here, now, she is the only one you see—tunnel vision at its best. And as the sickness wrings you out and takes every last ounce of your life.

It’s alright, it’s okay. Everything will be okay now. You don’t have to go through life standing alone anymore. You don’t have to face this vengeful world alone.

From this point, you’ll be taken proper care of again. Love as the remedy… 60 years together has got to count for something.


It’s like you’re standing in an airport, terminal, waiting for the one you love.