Delayed

is what I’d have liked to see appearing next to your flight’s name this morning, as selfish as this sounds, so we’d have more of whatever little time left that’s slipping away into the cocoon of the past. Tears were shed as we sat facing the glass wall, heads leaning, and we tried desperately to freeze the present and not leap into the future where all is uncertain and unknown. But our final goodbyes have to be said as we hugged tightly as if we could stop the dreaded eventuality from occurring. And then you went past passport control and airport security, as I stalked your being from above until we waved and mouthed our actual final goodbyes and those three words, separated by a noise-proof glass.

And so another year of waiting begins, perhaps until Japan of 2011.