In This Empty Terminal

Photo: shutterstock

People come. People go.

I sit here. My eyes search for you.

Are you here? Or are you not?

Did your plane park in the outside lot?

In this empty terminal of some mornings past

Love knocked and we rushed to it fast.

Now, like the smell of rich coffee from the nearby bar

For a moment you lingered, my thought’s gone far.

On the road. On the move.

What did we share but stories in troves?

Tales of rickety buses and missed morning flights,

and street bandits and broken fog lights.

Stories of discovery after an awkward laugh,

and scary encounters and humorous gruff.

Tales of getting lost, of the fears  we hide,

and the relief of a touchdown after a turbulent ride.

I came back to the now. I let out a laugh.

Doesn’t time play a little rough?

Just when I see that trot – that familiar stride,

The PA calls, my ride has arrived.

Hurriedly you walk. “Hey, you,” you say.

Then we spilled the adventures from yesterday.

You broke a bone, I chipped a nail,

You crossed a river, I was drowned in mail.

But the PA calls, it’s calling my name.

Should I stay,  should I get on that plane?

Whatever. Wherever. Before my time is through

I am all ears for  one more story from you.

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