I hold my breath.
Clutch my hands.
Taking in a moment.
A lifetime.
Because I’m losing you,
and I know you feel it,
too.
So I promise to write,
poems,
and letters,
and songs,
-as you say you’ll do-
but words on a page from
3,000 miles away
just don’t mean
what they used to.
And the smile on your face,
as you turn and
fade away,
down the dimly lit terminal
at the end of your stay,
is the same one
on the same face
on the first day
you first came home
with me.