i honestly can't tell if the kid with the crazy hair next to us is with his mom or his wife.
my daughter is using a stamping sponge on her head to balance her headphones.
there are so many of us here. we are all going to LA. i wonder how many of us think we are going home, or getting away, or know we are going home but also think of this place as home so we end up very confused together.
i keep looking for a scene in a movie to take place, because that's what happens in airports. where is liam neeson's eleven year old son jumping turnstiles for love? where is sally saying goodbye to her new boyfriend? where are the bad guys taking over everything?
better not go further with that last one.
my brain keeps hearing snippets of conversations, and i instantly create a life story for the voices. i check out faces for the sad ones, look to the college kids looking alternately weary and excited, and see the place on the floor where i sat with my kids three and a half years ago, waiting to fly back to alex, so so sad to leave this place.
why is the woman wearing black knit gloves to read her people magazine?
i'll miss you, massachusetts.
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