My stomach always fluttered as the tires got closer to the tarmac. I wondered if this time it would be an abrupt kiss, almost as though the tires were too presumptuous, assuming the tarmac wanted to be kissed. If it didn’t, it was almost as though it would reject the kiss, and the lips that went too far, causing the whole plane to bump up and down.
Sometimes, but not too often, the kiss was so subtle it couldn’t be felt. Smooth, as though both rubber and tarmac were mutual in their desire for each other and effortlessly came together.
Most of the time, it felt rushed. As though the two were lusting after each other and couldn’t wait a second more. The plane then met the ground with a thud, but stayed on the ground, as if glued to it and unable to break away.