step out of the airport and fill my lungs with the air ...with all the cars and remises this air does not taste like pollution but rather like seafood platters and rosebuds...my guess: it is ripe with the echoes of this ending summers, with its stories . It feels at the end of the day when we were children and played the whole day, the evening was bursting with the nice hours just spent...not yet eager to let the day go by ...
I usually practise to think that nothing comes back and you can buy no ticket to the past days where somebody arranged everything for you, that there is no air company bringing you back to the place you sleep sound and safe... probably not, this is a very good illusion, though.
(by tania simonetti)
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