Airport

The morning you had to leave, sitting at the terrace

soaking the winter sun, sipping on the morning tea.

Some unsaid words imploding inside of you, yet I saw you smiling beautifully.

Time was ticking away, arrives the moment of the grave torment.

We rush to your room as you pack bags,

not much for me to do but I breathe in all your scent.

Two hours to your flight, and yet we rush to the airport.

Lost your headphone last night, new ones you wanted to buy,

en route an electric store where I did not resort.

You must have been livid, as angry as you can,

must have cursed me a bit, but I had my own plan.

Not a single word exchanged, just a hug and a fist bump.

Not a word that we said, just the usual emptiness in our chest,

accompanied a throat with a lump.

We leave to our ways, as rushed to my car I felt you did turn.

I rushed backed to the airport,

and asked someone to deliver this little box with this fern.

Knowing my ability of “how aggravated  a person I can make”,

overwhelmed with emotion as you find something as simple as a box

in it just headphone, a note and a piece of your favorite cake.

Crying all the way to your seat, finally realizing we’ll be apart

This is how I remember you depart.

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