I prided myself on not crying at goodbyes.

One last hug, one last kiss, a voice,

then the stairs to check out, a glance back, down,

and you running, long-legged, keeping pace.

How I wanted to run back.

That smile, warm, bright, left me aching,

but no tears, not until I was about to fly,

and the snap. A picture, of your empty

passenger seat, after a whirlwind week.

 

‘Missing my copilot, x’

 

And the tears unthawed, fell,

and even the dull roar of engines

was nothing to the need to run back,

land steel wings and come back home.

Hold on honey, wait for me.

The wind will rise, it will turn,

and I’ll come back, to run with you,

my pilot, my captain. My love.