Huh
The day after I posted about things still being where they were, though A is no longer there, a funny thing happened. They’re shutting down Terminal C and eventually are going to tear it down. That was the airport he first picked me up in, and we saw it quite a few times thereafter. We had our first touch, our first hug, and our first kiss in Terminal C. It was in Terminal C that he first wore "the airport shirt," a favorite polo of his that I often saw when he came to pick me up. He looked good in earth tones. He looked good in everything. And nothing. I always beamed when I arrived at that terminal, and cried as I left it. The last two times I was there, I cried both upon arrival and departure; there was no handsome man waiting there for me to make me smile.
In an undefined way, I find myself kind of glad, because it IS weird to me that the scenery is still there, but the leading man in this love story is not. It’s silly. It’s selfish. It makes no sense. I know that. But the terminal is going, and any pleasure/relief/comfort I take from that fact hurts no one.
It’s just short of a year since he passed. And I have healed a lot in this year. But those little insanities I detailed in August, at a month and a half from when he left? Evidently, they do not go away entirely. No one’s sane all the time anyway; we all just pretend.