If I were to ask her what color hair the man in front of her had she wouldn't be able to answer. She was holding her plane ticket out in front of her.
The woman accepting tickets seemed to mildly snap her out of her trance.
Enough to make her realize she had been gripping her ticket so tightly it was almost crumbled in her hand.
She forced a smile when the woman took her ticket.
The smile was so pathetic.
I wondered if she realized that her pain was written all over her face.
The woman ignored it. That pleased her.
Her loneliness was stinging her chest now. As it usually did.
The trance seemed to be her emotional dissociation from this.
She seemed to be unsure how to find the trance again. The pain turned to distress.
The tears began burning behind her eyes.
I could see her accepting that there wasn't someone at home waiting to hear her.
To be with her.
And maybe she was a little angry that everyone could see this.
She didn't seem to want to be an open book today.
She sat in her seat and immediately pulled out a notebook and pen.
Wanting to be alone with her pen. She scribbled beautiful words.
Her lifeline when everything was crumbling.
The crumbling that day was adjusting to her new found loneliness.
But she was not alone. She was surrounded.
Lonely had never felt so public.
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