March 5, 2009

My dearest,

I have spent enough days living out of hotel rooms and luggage bags. Every airport looks the same, the check-in gates, the customs, the conveyor belts that spit our baggage and our burdens. It’s been a week now since I last saw your face, held it in my hands, drawing you in close for a kiss, a forever embrace though our hugs and our tears could only have lasted minutes. These cold sheets do not hold your scent, these mirrors do not hold your smile in the morning. I eat take-out, the contents do not matter. I miss your cooking. I miss shopping for the ingredients with you. I miss just walking past you and leaning forward simply to smell you. You smell so good. You are a wonder, baby; how did I ever get this lucky?

My suitcase is packed. The plane ticket snug in my pocket. There is a taxi waiting to take me to the airport. I’m coming home, baby, even if I have to fly all through the night. I’m coming home.

Yours, ever and always.