The Sycorax of our central nevrosis

You stayed there. We stayed there. We all stayed there, one might wonder, but was it really any reason for such lucidity in our wait? The veil was closing, the air was breathable but hollow, empty as the void in an atom. We waited near the stairs of St. Angelo’s Airport. Funny little place. The walls were carved in an indistinguishable shape-pattern, of whom perfectness was near surrealism existence, or rather shall I say, of near transcendental non-existence. Foucault would be truly not proud of this place. It was quite like a punishment of sorts.
I stayed there next to a chair on which I never ever even considered sitting. I was standing there, alone yet with dozens of people. I was waiting for her, but she didn't seem to come. I was feeling anxious. A kind of fear of the unknown that I can’t explain even to this day. I knew what might’ve happen, and yet I felt like I knew nothing.
Looking around me it seemed like I was nothing but another John, standing curiously, being the sole person in the entire airport who refused to sit, even thought I had an empty chair precisely next to me. Now that I think about it, it might’ve been a funny image. I was a sort of a centrum mundi of awkwardness.
Yet I also felt a steady feel of warmness in my heart and mind. I was waiting for her. Knowing who she is, who she was, and who she must become. I had a beautiful dream, and I could not stop from dreaming.
She could’ve come at any time. She could, and this idea made me breath consciously, feel my feet touching the ground and my back pressing on the wall behind me. I felt my fingers curl into a fist and my heart was pounding soundly. I was looking everywhere I could, but avoiding the exit. My eyes didn't have the power to look in that direction. They simply didn't. Yet they still had the power to analyze every single detail in the painting that stood before me. I could see the people rushing to their relatives, or lost in the wrong wing of the airport. I could see the beautiful shopping district full of tourists trying to spend the time left until their next departure. I could see the restaurants busy with customers, either people that stood alone with a laptop in their arms, or with families happy and hopeful, restless.
Restless...
I stayed there, alone.