Heathrow Airport

Heathrow.
A place of transition. Change. Movement.
A place where anything is about to happen, but nothing really happens.
People endlessly rushing.
People endlessly waiting.
Both of these actions (or inactions) happening simultaneously and yet separately.

Heathrow.
Where are you going? Where are you headed?
I don’t ask, because this is a place of utmost anonymity. This is a place where you will never see any one of these people again.
This is a place where it is more useful to make up their stories in your head as an exercise for the imagination, than it is to actually know the truth.

Heathrow.
Endless white hallways.
So long that humans can’t be expected to walk them ourselves.
Long black magic carpets are there to do the walking for us.
Follow the signs and you can’t get lost.
A map does more harm than good.
Remain with the herd and you will be ok.

Heathrow.
A place of patience. Waiting. Sitting.
A place where people spend hours in transition that consists of nothing but waiting.
People trying to pass time.
People trying to stretch time.
Both of these actions (or inactions) happening simultaneously and yet separately.

Heathrow.
Plane touches down.
Plane taxis to gate.
Seatbelt sign turns off.
People gather their things.
We wait some more.
Flight attendants say good-bye.
Passengers step into airport.
Arrivals walk to border control.
We wait some more.
Individuals explain why they are here.
Crowds walk to the baggage claim.
We wait some more.
Luggage moves around.
People grab their things.
Signs point the way.
Hallways funnel people to the exit.
Loved ones emerge to the line of those waiting.
Handmade posters signify who they are looking for.
And, finally, I emerge, blinking, into the sun of a new city.

Heathrow.
A place of expectation. Anticipation. Possibility.

A place that takes you from one thing to another.
People endlessly changing.
People endlessly returning.
Both of these actions (or inactions) happening simultaneously and yet separately.

Heathrow.
Where are you going? Who are you becoming?
Will this journey change you, or are you returning home? I make up your story as you walk by.
My fiction could be more boring or more adventuresome than your reality, but I will never know.

Heathrow.
Wide open spaces.
Everyone rushing in different directions.
Signs pointing in every direction to different trains, taxis, busses, parking lots.
Follow the signs and you can’t get lost.
A map would be very useful right now.
Be careful which way you choose.

Heathrow.
A place of change. Transformation. Newness.

A place where everything is about to change or a place of going back to the same.
People trying to do something new.
People trying to return to the past.
Both of these actions (or inactions) happening simultaneously and yet separately.

Heathrow.

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