A smile resembles a flower sometimes, drawn on a paper, or on a memory wall.Freshly painted. Imagine me sitting limbs akimbo, easy, relaxed, free from all kinds of travel anxiety, looking high, at the far end of the transit lounge, smiling, looking back at a memory of a girl/ incident/landscape I now don't exactly remember, when, a girl, sitting across me in a sort of airport fatigue looking unreasonably perplexed, asked, "Are you smiling at me?" Was I? If only she was my memory! She wasn't smiling, I noticed.