About two months ago, I experienced the worst “ghosting” of my life.

Ghosting;  you’ve probably heard of it. It’s when someone disappears without bothering to explain why. Poof, gone. Forever. You’ll most likely never hear from them again.

The moment is still fresh in my mind.

I was sitting on the cold floor of the LaGuardia airport, my back rested against the wall.

After three hours of waiting, my butt was sore, and my heart ached with sorrow.

I felt the rush of people flowing past me: families reuniting, people rushing to catch their Uber, security guards monitoring the premises. Everyone had a purpose except me. I was lost.

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