International Flight

By: Claire Kroening.

Last we met, the airport was flooded by lavender regret and what could have been. You held your head high towards the clouds; where you'd be for your fourteen hour flight. I wonder how it'd feel– to take a leap of faith traveling wide, yet remain anchored in place. Terminal lights flickered. A reminiscence of cigarette smoke clung like ghosts, day-worn seats. I wondered if you would remember me—the moments we made during leftover dinner—or if you were temporary company.

Now you're in Seoul, en route to Tokyo; minimal messages, roaring seas. When we dream upon the same starlight, do you recall our clay-etched promises? Tea leaves strung upon windowsills, departed sunrises ceasing waves. You left your heart in the palm of my hands. Though, we drift downstream in paper vessels.

Fates interweaved for all but us to see.