I cannot grasp what it will mean to send you off again,
What it will mean to let you go;
Finger tips to finger tips and not looking back
And hearing the roar of big jet planes
Overcome my trembling heart
That fleeting moments have left disoriented,
Direction home now jumbled and unrecognizable
Like the clouds you’ll soon be looking down upon.
I cannot find solace in a text to voice ratio,
In a line to line heartbeat filled of stories from afar.
But I will write until my pen blotches all my
Blank pages sad, and leaves my exclamation marks
Simple puddles in a mess.
So come back soon,
Before my heart begins to beat too soft a vibration,
And my pen runs out of black.