Sitting in the nice lounge waiting for my flight at Terminal 2.
Airports are no longer bittersweet places for me. Or rather, they are, but with less of the melancholy aftertaste. Airports, the imminence of travel, getting away, has managed to maintain its sense of lightness it brings to me. The freedom of self and nerdy love of watching the constant ballet of movement even at 3am.
I'm here at that most previous of times, dusk, when the lights of the airport start to glimmer identifying myriads of different points along the field.
I know what each of those lights means. I understand the entire layout, the significance, the warnings and clearances. And I am so glad I do.
I miss flying. Somewhere in the multitude of imaginary universes (i use imaginary in the H6D sense) I am doing so. I didn't fail my medical, I didn't have dreams I poured years of my heart and head and self into crushed, I didn't have to find a new dream - something I'm still working on daily.
But it no longer hurts. 10 years later, I love flying again. I just wish I could afford to once more.