November 5, 2013
I’ve wanted to write this letter for a while, but I never did find the time until just now. We stood by each other for only a moment. You pulled your suitcase from the platform in Terminal A onto the dirty shuttle floor, and sat quickly in the seat by the door. You folded your hands, and smiled at me, round cheeks stained pink from the summer sun. You were young, and full, and beautiful. The kind of person who can change the subtle temperature of a room with their presence alone.
We took off, magnetic wheels clunking heavy over the tracks. To Terminal B, and C, and D. The doors slid open, and a woman with heavy eyes and a rounded back shuffled on. She was angry, and mean, and she struggled to tug her bags over the step. Her suitcase had been packed in a hurry. It was bursting at the seams.
You stood - the only one out of nearly twenty passengers - and helped her to free her bag from the lip of the shuttle. Then, you gave her your seat. When she didn’t thank you, you told her to have a beautiful day. You stood by me until we reached Terminal F, and smiled at the scratches on the window.
I love you for that, stranger.