I read this and it obliterated anything I had in mind to express today.
Read this instead.
I was in this airport only once, on a plane to Bogotá that stopped for an hour to refuel, but the way it looked that morning remained superimposed on everything I saw until the day I finished A Book of Common Prayer. I lived in that airport for several years.
Which moments have you lived in long after they were over?
For me, it was an airport in Iceland.
A sunrise out a hospital room overlooking the Hollywood sign.
A narcissist’s hands pinning my arms against a wall while he pressed his lips to my face.
Any moment the sun hits my son’s eyes as he looks up at me.
The moment I saw my husband for the first time.
I gazed silently into a stranger’s eyes in Ojai for fifteen minutes never spoke to her again.
What is it for you?