that morning

The last time I saw him was a Tuesday.

I remember some of the details, but not everything.  He booked an early flight so I could drop him off on my way to work.  He's not much of a morning person; it was a quiet drive to the airport with the hum of the car radio in the background.  His hand rested on top of mine as we weaved our way through the a.m commuter traffic.

That particular airport is never really crowded.  I pushed the hazards button and hurried over to the passenger side.  I wore a black sheath dress and ugly ballet flats; he had forgotten his favorite black hoodie back in Lubbock and was in his standard t-shirt and jeans uniform.  Was he wearing the glasses I had picked out?  He stood outside the car with his backpack on and his carry-on slung over his shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him closely to me, said I couldn't wait to see him soon.  Have a safe flight.  Happy belated birthday and good luck on your boards.  Text me on your layover and don't forget to call me when you land; I need to know you got back in one piece.  He kissed me hard on the lips and turned to walk towards the automatic doors.  Away from me.

I wish I had known that was going to be it.


"i understand that you are going through a hard time / 
but what you need to recognize, i'm in one, too / 
you say that maybe we should take some time apart / 
but you go your way, i'll get by" - get you in, better than ezra