In The Airports

I see them as funeral houses. I see the longing and the sorrows. The passengers left— and they became the ghosts that greet me. They show me the architecture, the lights and the reflections, then point at a random stranger, mocking them in silence— using my voice for the mocking. If the world has a graveyard for the lost, they must add this place to the map. But here I am, still complaining, still bearing this alone— as if I volunteered to haunt these terminals in exchange for one more unspoken goodbye. At least they could’ve revealed more.