Airports

It’s all a question of wanting I guess. No no not of wanting, of waiting. Like of wanting or waiting to leave and come back and remembering who you were while remaining who you are. Your self will never leave you, so why should you worry? Well you do worry. You worry because you always leave something behind, and yet you’re going somewhere new. Somewhere new and appealing, but will you not miss the old? The old memories and miseries and clashes and get togethers and waitings. Each flight is like full of hope and past and future and dellusion. Dellusion.

You thought about staying next to my shoulder. Yesterday.

IT

All those things which you left behind. You had already lost them before forgetting them, remember?
Airports then, airports are like the space of no time. The in-between space of your ear, the very only and exclusive space where the present is not perceived, rare species. Otherwise, mind you, otherwise I’m a believer. A believer in the present and a skeptic, per extension, since I’m extreme, as far as the past and the future are concerned. The past and the future only exist if one thinks about them, their existence being completely dependant upon thinking. Thinking, then, thinking needs to take place at a certain moment, now, at present, so I assume that the present is the only thing that exists, the only human construct which is close enough to reality as to be an independent entity and whose ability to change, what defines it, makes it appear almost real. I refuse to believe that the past and the future exist if one does not perceive or think about them. And perception, once again, is present-bound. So, no present? Then no past, no future. Relativity lover.

You’ll think about staying within my temple. Tomorrow.

IS

All those things that you are getting now, you feel them? Too late to perceive them. On your toes.
But airports. Airports are the exception. They’re like the line in the middle, the fine thread where you stand without knowing whether you’ll fall to the left or to the right, upward or backward. Like the unique piece of land where the present does not count. No wonder that airports are human-made, artificial. The present then, the present moment might as well go on strike there, so unwelcome that it is. It is precisely for this reason, because the present at airports is no wanted guest, that decisions are best made there. Because they constitute the only reachable isle where your decisions are not biased or minuciously guided by your present perception of things but rather by past events or future opportunities. Wanna be rational? Then go to an airport and decide there. And yet, I am convinced of it. I am telling you, don’t you dare not think present.

Because I am leaving you. Today.

NOW

One usually falls backwards.
A shame.