Part XIII: The final hours

at the airport, writing...

I didn’t get to see her.

That is my only regret,
I tell Ben
he listens
calm & pensive as ever
�" he always listens like that,
but beneath the surface
I imagine a lot goes on:
storms brew
angels take form
cosmic warfare
and dimly lit lamps
that glow like Roman candles
in the church.
We buy some pizza,
a gang of loud-mouthed
teens waiting for their favourite seat.
Two euros later
they arrive hot
straight out of the oven
we talk
slowly and quietly
as though forming
a coven.
But we make no promises
to each other
thinking that it’s futile
anyway. We just grasp
on a hope. Life is beautiful.
Full of pleasure. Full
of hope. In dreaming,
we transcend reality �"
or rather, diverge from it
�" and we drink espressos
in a student-run café
along the river.
The service here I friendly
and the music pleasant
smell of cigarettes
makes us feel at home.
The 2 girls on the other table
are working on a zine
their blue eyes dazzle
their german accents
I soon venture off to the streets
back to Japan.

My backpack and luggage
its wheels along the tarmac
Ben waves a final time
on the platform
I’m on der Bahn
the rushing sound of the underground
brings me soothing
as melancholy and dread
rush through my veins
the alley in my mind.
As the answers lost, and
ones I could not find
become
forgotten about
in the wheels of change & time
they disappear
with the questions.

In the airport
I get bored, but
in the company of german-talk
and the echoes of what’s forgone
I reflect on the surreality
of all that has passed
with everything gone so fast.
No.
Time drags along
like a heavy weight
the wheels of the suitcase
rolling along the tarmac
I’m hiding in the tower
like the hunchback.
Admiring all the works of Man
while I, not one of them
do my best
play my part
play the fiddle, broken
and old
broken but new
still young
I trek through the world
like a battered veteran
in the search of warmth
or some haven
small enough for me.
I smoke silently
listening to the breeze.

The plane.
Delayed.
I don’t mind,
it’s no hurry
to get back home
I never get homesick
or
perhaps
it's no
different
to the
sensation
of
unbelonging
that is
consistently
within
me.

And I don’t
know
if ever
I will feel
right at home
in my place
safe
attached to
one place
in particular.
No,
it's never
about the location
rather
those whom
one shares
the space
with.
My friends
are all
melancholics
and madmen.

Not a still soul
revolves
in my circles
they’re all lost
on their
own
path: Uncertainty
where will they go?
where are they all now?
I can only imagine
but hopefully
they’d find
something to do
that gives them meaning
and courage
I remember
when
I embarked
on a quest for truth:
found no shadows
just one shade
black.

 

Author's Note

i mentioned in another note that my primary intention was to meet a girl - the love of my life! - in germany. she replied to my text messages but told me she was busy.
i've gotten over it. in fact, this whole idea was nonsensical, what was i even thinking. ive committed to not being a romantic ever since.

Reviews

[Lorry]

The leaving is always so hard and brings this constant thought to mind "is it all worth it?"
Of course it is because of the memories, places and people we meet along the way, but there aren't many smiles at the airport on the return journey home.
Even the flight back makes me so tired I usually sleep through most of it.
Yet as soon as we return home everyone wants to know how it went and where you're planning to go next.
Being older now I prefer local holidays in Scotland and its islands, because apart from some places that would be too far for me to travel to now, I've seen pretty much all of Europe, some parts of the States snd Canada too, so maybe its just age slowing my roll, buy there is so much I haven't seen of my own home and neighbouring country England that will keep me bust for a while yet.
Plus, I don't like beach holidays that much because when you're used to living without the sun, you can't miss what you haven't got!
Smile.
Part of going on adventures is the buildup to it coming round, wondering what it will be like and what will happen. Afterwards you think back to what you hoped and dreamed and barely recognise what you thought to what actually happened. But you always have the narrative of these tales tucked safely in the memory banks, plus any future planned visits to plan and plot! 😃