I walk toward the security gates
feeling the weight of a thousand stars on my chest.
Ahead of me is a father-daughter duo—
a father, dropping his daughter off;
a daughter, leaving her father.
I feel connected to them,
understanding the situation too well—
the mixed feelings of nervousness, sadness—
a different type of aching.
He walks her to the start of the security line,
making sure she has her toothbrush and plane ticket,
reassuring her that it will be a smooth trip.
He looks nervous and full of sorrow,
hands shoved in his jean pockets;
she looks dejected and tired.
She walks away looking at her phone
and he watches her the entire time,
moving as close as possible to the black rope separating them.
I wish I knew more of their story,
observing it unfold parallel to mine.
I follow her through the line,
watching her approach the guard,
ticket in hand.
She passes with ease and throws a quick, worried glance over her shoulder
towards her father whose face is too far away to interpret.
I smile with crinkled, blurry eyes at the story unfolding,
step up to the guard, hand over my ID, pull down my face mask,
and thank the stranger.
So It Goes 