The ear strained as the flight descended,and the zillion lights below erupted into view like an adolescent’s pimples.
Fast thoughts,still face.Ear still blocked.The long wait to see land is over.Its looming near and I still cant decide on how I should behave...

automated sliding doors with decision problems are to be avoided.

The door with a 'Closed' sign

All the upturned chairs would make the small ,really small patisserie look like it was playing dead.

I would not be fooled(the best is always in the end) and would try to coax the man with the broom to nugde it alive.....atleast a small corner of it....one limb....because I would be deliriously craving the last crumbs of something good that is always left behind
The ceramic plates would go a-clanging and I would talk…or not talk.
Comfortable silences,spurts of conversation and many comfortable moments later,I would wistfully watch people walk past,like the slipping phrases of a poet's thought...one of them would accidentally bump into the door and it would ever so gently sway...

the door with a ‘closed’ sign...

When something moves so rapidly, it tends to look so still.

A flurry of unsettled thoughts-tea leaves swirling with the spoon-chasing, dipping, floating, scurrying.

She had stepped out unescorted-flushed by her own audacity and calling god, by habit.In her head,she had thrust flags into the bosom of every step and conquered it.

Her apprehension had been replaced with a newer one....

the longing to belong and to fall irreparably in love with longing.