It’s right across from the Seattle Link train, and I can’t help but stare at it every time. Just a budget airport hotel where I spent a night around Christmas, when I was thoroughly and wonderfully in love.

It had been almost a week, and that time was memorable. It gets cold in Seattle, and it was the first time I had experienced the type of rain that is like standing at the foot of a waterfall; a thick cloud of wet that attacked from all angles. Umbrellas were useless. Every part of you and everything was soaked. But we smiled.

We looked good being together, our fashion and affection made us handsome. We walked everywhere, explored a lot, and I don’t think the city has ever looked greater than when I was sharing it with them.

We didn’t want the weekend to end. I checked into my flight, and in an airport cafe we had our last wine, just before security.

Certain things become forgettable over glasses of wine. I suppose I had lost track of time, or security became especially long, or… the reason was not memorable. But it was the last flight of the night. I called, in tears. And so, a cheap airport hotel…

I was distraught, and maybe a little drunk. The tan-upon-tan-upon-beige lobby had a two-foot tall attempt a christmas tree, all bent and sad taken straight from a cramped storage cupboard. Immediately, I went to work straightening and sprucing in an attempt to spread holiday cheer, and noticed that there was only one type of ornament present on the branches. I’d seen those miniature plastic apples on trees before, and loved them despite their cheapness. These were the same, but they were black.

All of them were black.

I had never heard of black apples before.

I took one.

I visit Seattle every year if not more, and I stare across the platform of the train.

The emotions and memories flood, all attached to one silly hotel sign. Of love, and guilt, and dreary lobbies, and black plastic apples.