The Airport: Moving Away From Home

Wed, 06/26/2019 - 21:36 -- sbane

The airport.

You know, that place where you fly?

High, high up in the sky,

The place of hellos and goodbyes.

"Goodbye, goodbye!" It's time to fly.

 

Eighteen-years-old and some change...

You'd find the sight very strange.

A few suitcases and a guitar,

I was traveling fairly far.

6,000 miles away,

I flew to Rome, yes, that's where I now stay.

 

But that flight a year ago, oh that flight...

Well, let us just say that it gave me a little fright.

Going to university in Rome, alone,

And, above all, in search of a home.

 

Not in the literal sense,

For of course I had a dorm in which to settle, in exchange for some cents.

I was aiming for more of a metaphor,

(Forgive me if this part is a bit of a bore.)

 

An emotional "home",

Some good friends and some--

thing more than what I was leaving behind.

That intangible fulfilment to which we are blind.

 

Eighteen-years-old and some change...

An eight-year-old me would've thought all of this very strange.

"What's so bad about where I'm from?"

"Well, nothing," I'd reply, "It's only that there I'm no one."

 

The airport.

You know, that place where you sometimes cry?

It isn't often that we talk about how much courage it takes to fly

Away from everything you've known,

But for that I've surely grown

From that time in the airport

So long ago.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
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