Flight?
Cancelled. (again)
So we took the audible.

Another night at Atlanta Fish Market…
     this time no King Crab.
     I went for the oysters—
     a little variety plate,

     not the usual indulgence.

Still delicious.
     Still watched closely,
     her eyes smiling the whole time,

     knowing exactly how I feel about each bite.

After dinner:
     Irby’s, (where else?)
     one drink,
     soft laughs,

     a gentle goodbye that didn't feel so final.

Meanwhile, the Blues put up 5 goals—
     and if we would have watched it together,  (at irby’s)
     she'd have been blotto with the bartender. (again)

"Shots for a shot" must be respected.

Today, we’ll try again:
     another plane,
     another farewell,

     another shot at getting this goodbye right.

Maybe Agent Coal will lend a paw,
     report for goodbye patrol,
     hold position near the threshold…

     like he’s guarding a classified mission.

He won’t look me in the eye.
He will accept the bribe.
He won’t say goodbye.

But the tail twitch at the doorframe gives him away.

It feels like this month already knows
     it'll see me again soon—

     three weeks, tops.

Farewell, Take Two.
     Quiet.
     Simple.
     Warm.

The way goodbyes should always be
     when you know:

     they're not really goodbyes at all.