Would you come with me to the airport? Maybe we can meet two, three hours before the check-in counters for my flight open. We can have our breakfast at Starbucks, and you can get your favourite French Vanilla Latte–if they still have it by then.
As we have our breakfast, the two carts with my luggage would sit patiently beside us, like two obedient dogs. We always wanted to adopt, right? And then, just like those lazy weekends with you by the beach, we’ll just sit and watch my fellow travellers coming and going.
You’ll snap out of the reverie first, but you’ll be gentle. You’ll give me a slight nudge, but my head will still be on your shoulders. You’d get up and begin to push one of the two carts to the counter, me the stubborn child beside you.
When we have our last embrace, I’ll be numb, and just stand there. I am never good at this, you are. It’ll be awhile before I tighten my arms around your waist.
Then there’d be an announcement, that it’s the last call to board my flight. I’ll have no choice but to join the queue at immigrations. And everyone will see a grown man trying to fight back an onslaught of tears and snot, tissue after tissue.
We’ll linger for a little more before I leave, waving frantically at each other from where we stand. Me inside the departure hall, and you outside. Behind the glass doors, you’re already on the other side of the world.
Image Credits: G P Reichelt Collection, courtesy of National Archives of Singapore. (Source)