Have left from somewhere,
And yet to reach anywhere.
There's this pause, however,
In between those places.
From where I have left,
To where I am going.
What if,
This pause,
is where I need to be?
A layover,
In between places.
Where I am not known,
but can be.
Not seen, and yet seen.
A layover,
Where I can just sit by the side,
Watching lives being lived,
And loved.
Coffees being sipped,
Books being read,
Phones scrolled through.
Some distant laughter and chatter,
A few kids laughing and running around,
A bunch of others crying,
and being consoled,
Folks sleeping on the chairs,
Others looking around,
Just as I do.
A layover,
Where I can let the sadness
of what, and who, I left behind,
sink in, and be one,
with the excitement
of who I may meet
and what I do next.
Where this sadness,
Or excitement,
Can just be, and be seen,
Finding an endearing space,
As does the airport coffee,
In my heart, and my body.
A layover,
not just between flights,
But also of the time
I am leaving behind,
To whatever may
come next.
