Sometimes,
I see the image of you in your white night gown,
Back at rigid attention as you binge watched
The same TV show for the second time that week,
So little life in you despite your posture.
I'm reminded of that terrible nagging feeling
That I really should turn around and walk back in,
Say something new and better,
Hug you tighter,
But I am late to the airport,
So I don't.
A month and a half later,
You were gone.
How I really wish
I'd missed my plane that day.