Terminal B-6

I've never found any place to be more odd than an airport. Perhaps it is because you experience so many faces, so many heartbeats, so many stories untold. Airports are paradoxical. The air is stale, yet ever flowing; the voices are thundering, yet almost uncomfortably quiet. One cannot sit in an airport and not feel as if they're suffocating as hundreds of bodies stir in the terminal, yet also be overwhelmed with a deep loneliness as they watch their nameless friends disappear one by one. It's as if one is existing in a dream state, and everything is moving in slow motion.

All of the rushing bodies seem to dance a complex tango around each other. Dodging and weaving through each other, they dance with anxious and excited passion. This dance is far from choreographed, yet it is so perfect, and that is why it is so captivating, one could surmise.

Children screaming, the chatter of finely dressed business men, the nervous humming of a lone teenage girl, it all becomes the most chaotic and cacophonous melody, yet one cannot help but miss it when it no longer hangs in the background. Time seems to cease existing in an airport. Has it been four hours, four minutes, four seconds?