Red hot running down aisles trying
to get in on time —I always thought if
I ended up here, I’d have ended up with
you, sipping overpriced filter coffee
on the linoleum floor of another airport
chasing down who we wished we could be.
But despite everything — what is it
politicians say? And yet, here we are.

The seats nearby are filled with talks of
Lake Como and Puglia and
all the places we should all be going,
and it’s so impossible that after all this
time it still makes me think of you, who
I dislike immensely but love very much.

Everything good in this life worth missing,
and I’m glad that we happened, and
I’m happy that it’s over, and I don’t
want to hear from you ever again.

The intercom announces. The couple beside
me nudge forward to board. Nothing will ever
come of any of this, but it’s OK because
there’ll always be some girl missing
you from LAX, wondering where you’ve
got to, wondering how you are.
Others have done this before, but not us.