The couple at the airport couldn’t stop kissing at departures. Even when the cops told them to move, they clung to each other — kissing, talking, kissing again. He was the one leaving, but he kept turning back, his hands reaching for hers like a current still trying to complete its circuit.
From my car, I watched her tears glint like liquid diamonds. I felt myself slip into her skin — the ache, the wanting, the refusal to let go. I imagined the weight of his curls in her hands, the way desire can make time stall and then collapse.
For a moment, I loved them both. For a moment, I believed in them.