Butterflies and Hurricanes

His life was like being at the airport.

As if his entire existence pointed towards one objective: waiting for his flight. There was no way out of it. It was a ceaseless, relentless, agonizing wait.

Her life was like being on a flight.

Held captive by an unstoppable holding pattern. Flying past the clouds, in a seemingly endless trajectory of waiting for the go-ahead signal. But never really beginning the descent.

It was ironic and laughably heart-breaking. They were so close, and yet they were unattainable to each other. They both had what the other needed. Only right now, it wasn’t in their control. The flight wouldn’t land, and the wait wouldn’t cease.

Right now wasn’t their time. Maybe someday. But not now.

Until then, the glass doors at the airport would ache with the uncertainty of a flight’s dull roar that may or may not be lost into the oblivion, forever.