Heading back, waiting.
Sitting and tapping.
Tip, tap, sway, I jiggle the leg hung over my knee.
Not on the ground as that would disturb, but nonetheless the wiggle reaches me deep inside.
The wiggle calms me, even if it signifies impatience to others in the populous.
I head back, and inhale on the scent of nostalgia.
I've done this before, explored the fine maze of the airport. I've been lost, found, and early, late.
Tip, tap, sway. My ankle bobs back and forth to the rhythm of my mind.
My hand joins the rhythm in a scritch, scratch, rub of my head.
It smells the same as ever, yet each experience is unique yet all at once the same.
I sit with a device, handheld and compact. Or I walk in circles pretending to be determined for a specific destination even as I merely unleash my inner energy in a non attention drawing manner.
Tip, tap, thud, I sit with my back against a support column, or a wall, and a wriggle in my bones with my eyes on my sister even as I fidget with a 10 pixel game.
Tip, tap, slap, I don't fidget, I keep an ear open for announcements while playing a clap game with my sister.
Nostalgia, are you a lie? Even when everythings the same, each moment is different.
Even as I think this, I smell that same smell of the airport as always, like nostalgia. Tip, tap, sway.
@Fulminata
A scent of nostalgia
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Do the dead suffer, or is it a sweet release?
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