Her plane to STL
    is still on its way to ATL.

I know that.

Because I’m watching it.

Obviously.

Every mile it eats
    brings it closer to her.

Every refresh
    is me, pacing.

    Quietly. (loudly)

She hasn’t asked for updates. (doesn't keep me from giving them)

We’re both pretending
    this isn’t a thing. (or it's just a normal thing)

She’s probably
    enjoying a pre-flight beverage,
    half-hoping I'll show up at the gate, (i might)

    low-key wishing the dog fit in the bag.

Me??
    I’m watching the inbound.
    Not her flight.

    *Her plane*.

That’s what it’s come to.

Tracking a 737
    as if I could…

    will it there faster.

It just left Indy.

She’s still in Buckhead.

I’m still in Fort Worth.

But soon—
    she’ll board.

That’s one leg down.

And the rest?

We’ll shuffle through it.

Just like we always do.