Loving you was an airport

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Loving you was an airport.
Polluted air and waiting taxis and moving taxis and people with places to go.
People who were coming home.
People looking hurriedly at monitors or tiredly at the crosswalk street with a little bit of sighing in their eyes because they're home.
It was confirmation numbers and printed tickets that you couldn't lose. The smudged ink on the ticket because I was afraid it would slip my grasp. I can't get where I'm going without a ticket.

I can't lose my ticket.

License please.
Where are you headed?
Where are you from?
What's your birthday?
What's your name?
I'm stuttering even though I know the answers.

It's security, walking straight. Trying to not look suspicious.
Removing my shoes, placing them in plastic bins to be carried away.
Are they dirty? Afraid that I'll track mud onto the carpet?
No it's to make sure I didn't have anything hidden.
Empty your pockets.
Take off your coat.
It has to be this way.
A certain way.
Arms up, stand still.
Come with me please.

You haven't done anything wrong,
I havent done anything wrong.
Why am I so nervous?
Why am I so afraid?
I haven't done anything.

A search, but what for?
A secret underneath my tongue?
Perhaps a desire to fight and the weapons to do it clenched at my side.

Relax.
Arms wide.
Fist open.

You haven't done anything wrong.

They cannot arrest you for a sharp tongue.
They cannot arrest you because of a matchstick heart.

Be calm.

You're free to go.
Take your bags.

You cannot leave anything behind or unattended.

There are consequences for things left behind.

Dont stay behind.
Move along.

Everything is scheduled, sit at your gate. You have a specific place.
If you move you'll miss what you came for.

Wait your turn until the time has come.

Loving you was an airport.
Filled with departures and arrivals.
Shuffling through the measures.

Loving you was an airport, and I don't know when I'll catch my next flight.

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