I used to love airports. The bustle, the excitement, the book-browsing/pointless shopping, the pre-flight pints and the inevitable grumpy barking at one another. Being in them is hard now. Much harder than I thought it would be.

Airports now mean the following:

  • Broken dreams & trips we won't take
  • Looking at happy couples
  • The place I first heard of Liane's death
  • Memories of holidays and holding hands

I find them hard to travel to, be in and think of now, which, given the amount of travelling I'm doing, is equal parts ridiculous and difficult. So much of the banal is hurtful at the moment and since April last. I wonder how long will that remain?