sacred_geometry ovenbird They meet in the airport, a space that transcends geography and time, existing both nowhere and everywhere, both in this moment and in every moment, past and future. Airports aren’t the sterile places they once were. This one contains a luxurious resort, complete with infinity pools and lounges lit by tiki torches. They have three days to hold each other’s hands, to see their reflections skim over the watery surface of each other’s eyes. When they stand together in the eternal daylight of the airport’s expanse of restaurants and gift shops they each train their vision upon the vanishing point of the other’s heart and everything makes sense, as if love were a thing that unlocks a sacred geometry of the soul. Two days pass in a flurry of hands touching shoulders and hands touching spines and hands glancing off the surface of faces, hands like moths landing, fluttery and gentle. On the third day, when the war starts, she loses him. When tanks and armies with their cruel artillery roll down the polished interior roads of the airport she scrawls a note on a sheet of lined paper, red ink smeared by hurry, that says, “please find me.” He’ll know just what she means. He’ll know to look for her in the past where her heart yearns to start again; he’ll know to look for her in between time’s quatrains where wordless space leaves open a whole universe of possibility; he’ll know to look for her in the gloaming where light and dark exist in equal measure. But now, she faces the general, who comes with his muscles and guns and hate, and demands she answer the question that will determine her fate. He brings his face to hers, his breath a sickening humid exhalation. “Do you believe in ghosts?” he barks. She pauses. Of course she believes in ghosts. She’s been made one often enough by those who took their love and regard and left her to wander the world with her hand unheld, unheld, that is, until the one she’s lost folded her fingers into his, making an accordion book of their lives. “No,” she says. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” She knows this is the right answer. She must deny the truth that she holds inside of herself. It’s the only way to survive. So she survives. 260108 what's it to you? who go blather from