There's a tendon that is sick and tired of being in my foot. It is trying to leave my body. I totally understand it's argument. I've been wandering around this airport deciding if I'm hungry, thirsty or just adjusting to my new surroundings. I am about an hour into my layover. I have more than an hour to go. It is worth it. I'm in Oregon for the first time in three years. For the first time since I was on my way to Chicago, the great quarter life change that lasted almost a quarter of a year. I have less bags, but more baggage this time. I've never been in this airport, but it feels right.
They all feel right.
All these airports over the years. Either alone or with a love or a friend or a lay or still alone. They all seem like a vacation home I'll never own, a timeshare I'll never pay for, a friends floor I'll never sleep on; except for the times I have.
It is almost time for the beer and the shot combo. I've had one at every airport I've been to, except for that stop in Cleveland. It is me leaving my mark. A quick indention in a soft wood stool that will forget me sooner then I will forget what I wanted to say in this.
I guess I want to say this: things are good. And totally fucking different. I'm sitting in an airport and I'm not missing someones body, or looking into someones eye, or sharing a drink with a best friend. And I'm not full of should haves. And there are no what ifs. And I don't really care what everyone is thinking anymore.
But there are a few people I want to be here with me.
So I am going to do the things necessary that we can do things like this together. For a long time to come.
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