This is what I wrote on an airplane coming back from CA one night. Short, sweet and to the point. Err... some kind of point.



Airplanes... sucked. There's no possible way he could trust a large metal thing flying through the sky.
Lightning flashed in a cloud somewhere off in the distance, lighting an ocean of night. His stomach churned.
It all made him think of her. Made him think of the way she'd stood in his doorway, her hands on his shoulders, her dark hair, her dark eyes swollen with tears. The way she said she was leaving. Forever. The way she said she loved him.
"I hate this place. If I don't do something now, I feel I'll be stuck here forever. Where am I going? I don't know. Somewhere out west. Santa Monica, maybe. I hear its nice there."
The plane shook, tearing him from his reveries. That was two years ago, when they were 19... young and naive, yet so mature for their age. Last week he'd gotten a letter from her. She was in Santa Monica, just like she said. She said she needed to see him.
Just the thought of seeing her again made his heart race. Race from both excitement and fear. The letter seemed to have been written with a sense of urgency, perhaps even tainted with a few tear drops.
The airplane was ridiculously large. It was probably about 90% empty, and the only passengers seemed to have had a rough life. An elderly woman with cuts all up and down her arms with a pillbottle on the table in front of her.
A young black man, probably in his twenties, wearing a doo-rag, listening to something, resting his head in his hands, sobbing.
A young woman, mascara running with her tears. Her hair was a mess, and her t-shirt was stained multiple colors. She had two children in her lap. She couldnt've been more than 20.
Another woman, probably 23- a hooker, crying over a doctors note. He could make out the words: "HIV: Positive."
One couple held his attention. Young people, not older than himself. The man who had black hair combed to the sides, like his, held a sobbing brown haired soman. The man too was crying, saying this like "It'll be okay" and "we'll get through this."
A stewardess got on a loudspeaker announcing their final descent, saying it was time to turn off all electric devices and to return their seats and tray-tables to their upright and locked positions.

The plane landed. He walked through the darkened airport, past barred shops and darkened corners. It seemeed he was the only one in the airport, besides security guards (he had seen two). He had one bag, which he was able to take on the plane so he could avoid baggage claim.
He walked down a set of unpowered escalators, where he saw her. Exactly how he remembered her. Everything about her was the same, even down to the tears in her eyes. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever met.
"Jen..." he whispered.
As he walked closer to her, he realised a few details that had changed. Her face was bruised, perhaps even swollen. Her arms were covered in cuts, a few of which were stitched closed. She also had an odd tan on her left ring finger, perhaps from a recently removed ring. Besides that, everything was how he remembered. Her perfect figure, beautiful hair, eyes he'd been lost in so many times growing up.
They'd known each other all their lives. Preschool, birthday parties, he'd even been there when she had her first kiss. He'd wished so hard and so often that they'd been his lips she'd kissed. She was always perfect... God, what could've happened to someone as perfect as her?
Something was strange, though... As close as they'd been growing up, during the two years she was gone, he hadn't heard from her. Hell, he didn't even know where she was or even if she was alive- until he got her letter. But still, not a day passed that he didn't think about her.
They stood before each other for an awkward moment, before she broke down in his arms.
"Do you remember what I told you the night I left?"
"Of course."
"I meant it... And I still do. God, I messed up. I fucked up so bad..."