February 12th, 1989
Is there anything more exciting than waiting at the airport for the person you truly love to arrive? The person you’ve longed to see again since the second you said goodbye at the same airport, almost three month’s before.
The person I flew across the Atlantic Ocean to try and forget. But even with distance and time, I couldn’t escape the image of his face, forever imprinted in my memory.
Waiting for that person.
Each time the double doors leading into the terminal swung open, my heart leapt in anticipation. I scanned the throng of passengers, searching for Ben’s head.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Checked the board again to make sure his flight from Italy had actually arrived.
Pacing. Pacing. Pacing.
And then, through the sea of weary faces of people arriving from all over the world, I spotted him. And he saw me too.
My pulse raced. My stomach did somersaults. I felt giddy.
His eyes fixed on mine like a laser and within a minute he was standing in front of me. There are no words for the kiss.
And since that kiss, almost twelve hours ago, we haven’t let go of each other.