No one can resist the magic of an airport building. There's no rational explanation for it. Perhaps this thoroughly irritating attraction can be explained by the fact that every person who spends, has to spend, a shorter or longer time there, leaves an impression, a quite unique pattern. So if we simply assume that this bold, doubtless absurd though amusing hypothesis corresponds to reality that means there must be millions and millions of traces that are left day after day, year after year, in that unbelievably chattering and yet lonely place. A vast ragbag of millions of trains of thought. A bottomless ocean full of words, callow vows of love, secrets thought hidden for ever, daydreams, longings in all languages, airships full of happiness or melancholy, feelings of guilt, grief. All that gone, having trickled away like old rainwater, lost for good, and yet, contrary to all logic, still there. What an enticing idea! An endless symphony of scraps of words strewn over the floor. Between the here and now and the beyond. Here a moment ago and already past history. Somewhere or other. Perhaps behind time. In brief: God knows where.
© Arabeskenverlag
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