– “I love you,” she mouths the words, but he can’t return them. He wants to pack them up and take them with him in case he needs a reminder that if nothing else, she said them and likely was sincere. She’s proven such sincerity, but at the heart of him he still doubts it. He doubts it in the way, when as a child he would make his way to the ice cream shop and they were out of his prefered praline, he would doubt that any of the remaining were ice cream at all. But he wants to pack these words up. He wants to carry this breath with him. Her breath. The breath that formed the syllables behind the whispered three words. He sets the backpack he carries down on the tiled cold surface. He rummages through and manages to find it. He pulls out a plaid handkerchief. It is the only one he owns. His intention, to capture that breath and carry it in the backpack, should he find himself needing it on his journey. And he is about to, but in the silence that has transpired after her whispered syllables, her tears have begun to fall. They are not enough for him to whisper anything back. He can find no words. But it affects him. He loses the breath, the syllables, their words. They dissipate into the space between them, which he erases as he steps toward her and uses the handkerchief to, instead, capture her falling tears. She is consoled by this. Enough to lighten the sudden storm of her eyes and break a smile. He mirrors this smile. The reflection breaks and he leaves her with the handkerchief and walks into the terminal. The kerchief captures tear after tear. He arrives at the gate, having packed nothing in case he finds himself in want.
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