The airport.


4 am: I’m sitting here, in the airport hall ‘Zone B’.

I looked at the bright yellow sign over and over again: ‘Zone B’.

It’s dead silent, and the only other few souls around also came alone.

For an instant, I felt life erased…no past, no future, just Zone B — ‘an empty room, that’s what present feels like’ I thought.

So tell me, where next? How to make these choices. Are things supposed to magically occur to us or do we work them out?

I hear the ‘taratatam’, the confident walk of an air attendant crossing the corridor — her steps brutally hitting the ground, like the minutes on my watch…

They scream rhythm, order, rigor. Order, is what I made my life about. Yet I have no idea where I am going…here in Zone B.

And none of my friends know I’m here tonight, and there is no one on my mind — except a stranger I met on Friday night.

What do you find when you don’t know what to search for? Is abstraction merely a second prize for the lost…when there is nowhere to look for meaning?

Lost neither in hell or heaven, I feel I am wasting my time. Zone B might be where I start over after all, like the reset button at the back of my head.

Still tonight, the sound of her heels…the sound of time wasted and smashed against the floor is just unbearable.

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