Hey Stranger...
Frankfurt airport is always crowded. So every week when I had to get to Paris, my mind was always heavier than the luggage I dragged along. Thankfully they don’t ask to check in your mind.
When the first time I had to produce a credit card I didn't have, I really looked around in despair. 'No credit card' counter didn't exist.
That's when I met him. The guy who guides lost people to the right place. Only at the airport. Don’t ask for more than you can get.
Eyes do speak. When he asked me where I was going and I told him Paris, his eyes filled with longing for the place he'd left behind. How often he'd have heard of home and visited it more times than every aircraft that flew over him, to count that I didn’t know enough numbers.
When he asked me why I didn’t have a credit card, I wasn't offended as I wanted to, pretence to this invasion of private space. Too poor. We laughed. When I asked him how often he went home, he told me, not often enough. We laughed again, this time in sadness.
We became almost friends. A quick ticket to a queue isn't a crime among almost friends.
I met him every week after that. When eyes would search among unknown faces, he would always materialize by my side. 'Hey stranger'. I was the no-credit girl. Returning was never my forte.
And I'd tell him yet again how beautiful everything was back in a street he'd walked without realizing he'd be away. Back in a street where he hoped he'd go away from. Back in the street where he now wanted his feet touch.
So when the last time that I had to go away, I knew I wasn't to return. For at least a long while. And I brushed aside my fear of 'what-if' I didn't meet him to say goodbye. But as always, he came.
I told him I was going away. He signaled to his colleague he was taking a break. Pulling one of my now eager bags, we walked to a coffee bar. He told me he broke a rule that day. I never asked him what it was. That’s when we became friends.
When I stood uncertain of how to say goodbye, he put his arms around me. I broke a rule too. Arms went around.
Merry Christmas. I'd wished you last year.
Merry Christmas this year too. It comes again. Returning is characteristic of it.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUe4PpgtAkToCJjnoK4lVhbHeFFH3LWLqvLHZ8qfBSiFa1TRSPOfBBzjfHirDwHq7lABzSLpZEClX4hUz6H-3f7LRbc_rCVzSuvpt6REfj09Ifb6JbEAM3VgQ-PQUXPumKCair_w/s400/image001.jpg)
Have a good year you all.
When the first time I had to produce a credit card I didn't have, I really looked around in despair. 'No credit card' counter didn't exist.
That's when I met him. The guy who guides lost people to the right place. Only at the airport. Don’t ask for more than you can get.
Eyes do speak. When he asked me where I was going and I told him Paris, his eyes filled with longing for the place he'd left behind. How often he'd have heard of home and visited it more times than every aircraft that flew over him, to count that I didn’t know enough numbers.
When he asked me why I didn’t have a credit card, I wasn't offended as I wanted to, pretence to this invasion of private space. Too poor. We laughed. When I asked him how often he went home, he told me, not often enough. We laughed again, this time in sadness.
We became almost friends. A quick ticket to a queue isn't a crime among almost friends.
I met him every week after that. When eyes would search among unknown faces, he would always materialize by my side. 'Hey stranger'. I was the no-credit girl. Returning was never my forte.
And I'd tell him yet again how beautiful everything was back in a street he'd walked without realizing he'd be away. Back in a street where he hoped he'd go away from. Back in the street where he now wanted his feet touch.
So when the last time that I had to go away, I knew I wasn't to return. For at least a long while. And I brushed aside my fear of 'what-if' I didn't meet him to say goodbye. But as always, he came.
I told him I was going away. He signaled to his colleague he was taking a break. Pulling one of my now eager bags, we walked to a coffee bar. He told me he broke a rule that day. I never asked him what it was. That’s when we became friends.
When I stood uncertain of how to say goodbye, he put his arms around me. I broke a rule too. Arms went around.
Merry Christmas. I'd wished you last year.
Merry Christmas this year too. It comes again. Returning is characteristic of it.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUe4PpgtAkToCJjnoK4lVhbHeFFH3LWLqvLHZ8qfBSiFa1TRSPOfBBzjfHirDwHq7lABzSLpZEClX4hUz6H-3f7LRbc_rCVzSuvpt6REfj09Ifb6JbEAM3VgQ-PQUXPumKCair_w/s400/image001.jpg)