airport goodbye
written summer 2022 about 2011
10 mins
it is a very heavy august summer day, we are cruising in my jeep with all of his china possessions in the back, a dismantled bike, a stick figure chuanr barbecue, his boisterous personality folded into suitcases and an obese duffle bag. we sit in tandem, smile talking, hands fondly flickering as we tenderly touch fingers, the jeep heading towards the big spot on the curbside of the drop off of the dragon airport’s glass doors. i feel like an orange, so full of happiness and sweet tangy juice. he is like a gentle big sea, all those aqua colors and sunlights and blue grey white clouds floating above the horizon of himself. his eyes are like the sun’s light, deeply brown, earthy fiery low tones, just like his voice which sends low vibrations through me every time he says anything. we are in love’s spacious atmosphere. pull the car into its spot, and the inevitable that we were coasting towards is about to occur. He pulls me into his massive frame of a body, which makes tiny me feel all-encompassed, and we kiss good bye. Then, I let go of him, my body pushing against the swilling tides that pull me magnetically towards him. I pull the jeep reluctantly away from the curb. Tears trickle down my cheeks, and that is the moment we split apart. That was the last time I ever saw him in this lifetime.
I cried for the split, I cried for I’d finally found someone so wholesome and loving, caring in his nature.