The last ride went too fast. The terminal

expected her.

 

Dawn appeared half-heartedly and grey,

as we rose

from a night we didn’t want

to end; knotted stomachs

filled with morsels

of a breakfast unwanted, undesired, necessary;

then we drove

 

ten kilometres of silent goodbyes,

words caught somewhere between

heart and mouth,

tears falling and flooding,

we had to open the windows

to breathe.

 

The terminal expected her, waited for her.

I pulled in and we got out,

amidst a sea of travellers,

to verbalise again

what had already been said

under an inky night sky,

but not said enough.

 

The pain of separation, inevitable

but that doesn’t make it easier,

and it’s only for a time:

three months in waiting

after three weeks

of everything one could ever

want.

 

The terminal expected her

and it would have her. A kiss

and those words, burned into my memory;

I watched her walk away, ignoring

the attendants telling me

to move on, I watched her

through eyes glazed,

with a heart heavy

but full.

 

The last ride went too fast,

yet these three months can’t pass

fast enough.