We said nos vemos, and put the truck back into gear, leaving me sea-level in front of the airport with my bags and a partially sweaty back. I passported my away into a crowd, and quickly checked my bags, receiving instructions and my boarding pass almost entirely in spanish; up until the question of whether or not there were explosives in my baggage, to which I asked for english; against what she had already perceived as my stubborn and strong will.
I will fake comprehension before I admit shortcoming.
Through security and passed duty free, I was gate 10 in time to internet, exchanging a few emails with Emilio, and instagram a photo of my ticket and plane, all the while people-watching the Costa Rican national tai-kwon-do team flirt their youth and matching jump suits through the terminal. I was jealous that they were so many, so visibly surrounded by friendship and comradery, and yet I was glad I didn't have a best friend to fight with for the seat next to the brunette with glasses.
Boarding call and a quick photo of the side of the plane, and I was 24 A and a cat nap against the window, in time for take off, and the fading Salvadoran coastline; the San Miguel Volcano pointing to heaven like its the only thing he knows.
Their are moments in life, where one feels so aware of the present, the past and future fold neatly into now, like they've always been there, and always will be. There is no shame, nor fear, simply rest, and the coastline bends eastward, and you spot Honduras in time to notice your flying into an expedited sunset; as sunlight bends into kitchen lanterns, stadium lights, and some little 12 year old girls reading lamp, and it's dark outside, and you're happy, because the man just announced our descent into Bogota.