This isn't just a flight,
     it's my new routine,
     my perfect habit,
     my favorite way

     of moving closer to exactly where I want to be.

This route, a lifeline—
     my new compass,
     my favorite pilgrimage—

Flight 1248,
     departing at 2:28—
     enough time for a Bloody at Oscar's,

     just cheap enough to justify a second one,
     just early enough to toast the hour ahead.

I'll land at 5:31,
     right on schedule,
     aligned perfectly
     with her afternoon nap,

     giving me exactly enough time
     to get to the Sylvan,
     shower off the sky,

     stroll on into Irby's just as she's waking,
     ready to smile and pretend she's surprised.

Second time on this flight,
     soon the crew will greet me by name,
     ask if I'm heading home—

     smile knowingly when I reply:

     "Something like that."

Because Flight 1248
     isn't transportation—
        it's anticipation,
              celebration,

     a two-hour countdown…

     to the only destination that truly matters.