We had cut it close, just like always. I quickly shut the apartment door and headed towards the elevator. Of course the Uber driver couldn’t find the right entrance. Antsy and annoyed, we stood waiting in the cold. When we finally started driving, we sat without speaking.
Traveling was routine. Thanks to studying abroad, I had experienced so many flights and airports that flying had long lost its enjoyment. Now it just made me tired. As I stared at the scenery racing by, the ride felt short.
When we arrived at the airport, the check-in line was long, but we would make it. For once, I was actually aware of the people around us. Instead of scrolling on my phone, I was watching you reach into your carry-on for who knows what and holding up the line. Your voice seemed louder when you spoke, and I used it to drown out everything else. We talked about mundane things that felt wholesome. I saw another couple and even smiled when they started kissing.
Traveling together is different in all the small ways.
We couldn’t sit next to each other on the plane, but your hair poking up from the seat in front of me was a comforting sight. It wasn’t about being together, it was about seeing and feeling things in a new way. Finding the hotel room and mocking your sense of direction when you got us lost (always). Being patient and most importantly, being each other’s constant. Staying together in an unfamiliar city felt homey.
The king-sized bed was endless.
The bathroom was messy.
The colors more vivid.
The silences fulfilling.
Traveling together makes me realize how small we are in the world and how much there is to discover. It makes me see that you’re still the same stupid boy no matter where we are. When you travel together for the first time and it works, it makes you want to do it all the time.