Nowhere In Particular // H.S.

Forty: Landslide

They called my zone over the intercom ten minutes ago, yet I haven't moved from my seat, staring out the massive window to look at the even bigger plane on the other side. I know they won't wait forever on me. I'm just another passenger in their eyes, not some girl who had her heart broken. But I'm playing with my chances, waiting until the last possible second to board the plane that's meant to take me to back to Portland.

Harry was serious when he said that he'd buy my plane ticket home. It's probably because he knew I wouldn't actually go if he left that part of it open. Out of spite I didn't want to accept it but somehow I ended up here regardless, the last seven hours since he shut the door behind me feeling like a blur.

I called him so many times that it felt like a reversal of when I first left home and my phone was the one overwhelmed with missed calls. I left him message after message, with my back still against the door of what was our hotel room. But eventually his voicemail box was full and enough people had walked past me in the hallway with concerned looks on their faces that I mustered up enough energy to stand up. That, and Harry still hadn't opened the door even though I knew he could hear every word I said to him on the phone on the other side.

The only thing I got from him was a text. A text that did nothing to represent any of the moments we shared in these last month's together. A text that I memorized and don't even need to pull out my phone to repeat it back word for word.

There's a cab downstairs that will take you to the airport. Your flight leaves at 11:40 am. Safe travels.

A link to my confirmation of the flight was attached too, but that was the only other thing. No I love you. No I'm sorry. No I'll never forget this or you... nothing else. Just a simple text that reminded me of his harsh demeanor that I can't shake from my head.

Above this message that gets harder to look at it each time I do, are some that would usually make me smile until my cheeks hurt. And somehow the messages above this one from Harry still manage to get this same reaction out of me as I reread them, despite everything that's happened.

So I let myself read through as I scroll up, my brain feeling fuzzy with the conflicting thoughts the messages cause.

There's a man in the bathroom who's giving himself a pep talk into the mirror about using the urinal. A grown man, I may add.
I haven't decided if he realizes that I'm in here or not. Even though I just washed my hands right next to him.
He's making eye contact.
Men public restrooms are a scary place, Greta. Can you sneak me into yours instead? I promise there will be no funny business.
Turns out the man is nice. Just has some public pee anxiety/isn't aware of people around him.

I had a dream last night. You were in it. I was happy.
I woke up this morning. You were there. I was happy.
You're staring at me like I'm crazy. I'm still happy.

Why did the chicken cross the states (to the Atlantic ocean)?
Because the chicken met a ridiculously handsome boy on the bus and fell madly in love.
P.S. you're the chicken and I'm hilarious.

Hi, I love you. Now stop talking to Laurel on the phone and give me cuddles.

There's countless more above this that I think I'll keep on my phone forever, but I have to stop myself from scrolling up anymore because behind the smile these word are causing, is that feeling that hasn't left since Harry said maybe he doesn't love me. The texts say the exact opposite of this but I'm starting to believe the words that actually came out of his mouth instead.

All remaining passengers boarding our flight to Portland, please report to gate E. The woman on the intercom reads off again, reminding me that I'm on a deadline here, that I can't sit here forever.