I see them standing there
on the dingy airport floor.

I see the travelers

bustling about

under the luminescent ceiling lights

their suitcases dragging behind like beaten bodies,
forced to carry the weight of those
who stuffed them full enough to fly.

I see my mother
with a heavy pack on her back.
Holding her son,
eight years old
with less than eight hours sleep,
his excitement wearing her weary body down.

I see my father

his powerful strides
cutting through the travelers
like butter
while his sons tread carefully in his wake

I see myself,
only an idea
drifting in the air
as these travelers
connect
in a newfound place.

The particles of me
drifting slowly,
to form a whole.
A human.
One with thoughts,
love,
and compassion.
One influenced by all that happened before her
and all that happens after.