gwegg

It has been almost a year
Since I have boarded a plane.
Since I have hurriedly completed
the petty tasks of receiving my boarding pass,
going through security,
and yet sitting on this plane, clutching my notebook,
I’m traveling not only to another location but I’m taken
back to last year’s thoughts.
You wished me farewell,
kissed me goodbye for what seemed like hours
but sitting on the plane it felt as though I hadn’t kissed you in months.

Last year you told me that you loved me,
and to be safe on my journey.
I thought for sure that by the sincerity of your eyes,
and the tone of your kisses,
I would never again be sitting on a plane without the feeling of your skin fresh on my mind.
I have not talked to you in ten months now,
and too many promises made were broken.
We had too many plans made that went unaccomplished.
Neither of us has even attempted to communicate with the other,
so I take partial blame.

Upon landing in another country,
I made certain I informed you that I was safe.
I recall a time and place when you cared about my safety more than anything,
even more than your own.
I understand that things are different now,
we have both moved on,
despite our hungry hearts making promises we would never keep
about “never loving another.”
There are many moments when I’ve wondered about you,
when I’ve wondered how on earth I could talk to and hold one person for years and then suddenly things change,
and now, ten months later, I can barely remember your voice.
You were filled with poison,
But your venom kept me coming back for more
every time I almost called a quits.

You and I were something special.
We can both admit that.
It is in moments like this,
sitting in a window seat of an overcrowded airplane taking me
thousands of miles away from where
I assume you’re with your “new girl,”
that I miss the way things were.
No, I don’t miss you,
but I sure as hell miss what we had.

traveler’s poem (via gwegg)

gwegg
You are the reason that I have read 5 novels in the past week.
The word escapism does not do my method justice.
I am on my way home,
uncomfortably adjusting my small frame in this airplane,
and I’m placed in the window seat.
The flight attendant announces “minor turbulence,”
but this bouncing and rattling of my body
does not compare to the way you shift me.
We gave love a chance,
and it has taken me quite some time to realize,
that love has not given us much back.

I wrote this on an airplane pt III (via gwegg)