Flight

Over the long distance line, we fight as if we were sitting next to one another, but with the miles in between making us each just a bit bolder, a bit more acerbic – it’s no good and we both know it, but the weight of our history and the promises we’d made each other keep the line open, draw out our silences, hone the edges of our hurt and incredulity at what is happening.

When she’d left, it turned out she was leaving for good, though I don’t think she knew it, or just couldn’t look right at it or hear it over the packing of our mementos, the drive to the greyhound station, the sound of her wings.