The plane’s wing obscures my view of the retreating metropolis below.  Some strange longing inside leads me to rise out of my seat to get just one final peek, one nonsensical attempt to somehow see your image before it disappears…

You asked me why I was staring. Why am I looking at you so? I feel at once relieved that you cannot see my heart wailing inside my chest. I smile, attempting to deflect your question, but hoping the moment will last forever. Do you have any clue what your eyes do to me? Do you feel anything as you quizzically gaze back? Does your soul scream out like mine, longing for its counterpoint?

What could be, would be, if I weren’t here and you there? What if we both hadn’t blown it the first time? The question remains embedded in my mind after 3 years, 4 months, 1 day, and 18 hours. Can either of us suffer one more assault before we, before we… give up? Because you see, if it fails now, I’m not sure there will be another one…

Nothing else left, we embrace, once, then again, and finally, a third time. I pull my luggage; you pull away.

I finally catch a glimpse of the city lights below. As they stretch below, I wonder if you are out there somewhere, thinking of me too. I wonder if you are thinking about a time long ago, when we both knew happiness, and though naively, we both knew love. And I wonder that, with the same foolishness, you believe it could happen again.

Thankfully the red eye is nearly empty tonight. As melancholy mounts, no one witnesses my grieving soul, or my tears.