Funny how airports are nowhere land. Neither here nor there. A torn space. Space that doesn’t belong to anyone. Sort of. A limbo of sorts. A purgatory of travelers. A bubble.
An intersection of the past and the future. A present.
An airport is the present. Always present. It’s nothing BUT present.
And I find myself reflecting, pondering, waiting. The present presents me myself on a platter: who I WAS. Who I WILL be. All the present does is to present.
So while I’m here in an airport, all I have to do is face it. Face my present self: the limbo. The purgatory. The present. The NOW.
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman