Brigitte Bardot à La Madrague, St-Tropez, 1975.
What a babe
I always loved being at the airport because you’re surrounded by endless strangers with a million different uplifting and heartbreaking stories. It’s a large room filled with chaos and energy and charged emotions.
I always thought those people that let you through to security must see it all: stress, anger, anxiety, rushing, excitedness, boredom, sadness, tiredness, energy.
I don’t know why, but I never really thought I’d become another one of those tear-stained faces that looks at them with a sad smile, boarding pass in hand. But I have.
The airport is the one place where I can never seem to suffocate the knot that rises in my throat, nor can I contain the tears that spill over and run down my cheeks.
But security, they never judge. They just smile back.
They’ve seen it all before.