The airport. It must be close to the saddest place. Sad faces queue up at terminals, kissing wives, daughters, siblings away. Standing with rigid posture, gripping rolling luggage, wheeling themselves onto planes and world apart. A strange half generation of traveling people, born to the skies and birthed onto wings.
Every smile manages to shoot out as though to mean "I'm smiling stronger than normal, in hopes you fly back to us...". And the band played on, strong brass section beating out little metal heartbeats for our somber travelers who have lost their breath to anxiety. Loved ones behind the gates, your fit only to wave, and when you all look like ants then I might see a little ant leader with a hand looking flag, waving it like a surrender...
Fly my giant metal beasts! Grasp onto the nature of flight, winged and sad.
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