You vanished
    into this morning's sky—
    no runway selfie,
       flight number,
       boarding pic,

    not even a gate number to breadcrumb me your path.

And me?

I’m down here—
    radar off,
    FlightAware unopened,
    whispering to no one:

    “She wouldn’t just ghost the ground crew…”

But you did.

No tail number.

No peace.

I’m always ready—
    thumb hovering over the tracking app,
    coffee in hand,
    eyes on the horizon

    like a lovesick air traffic controller.

Instead?

I got silence.

Digital airspace: *cleared*.

You think you’re just flying STL to ORD— (or was it Midway?)
               but this was stealth ops.

Covert.

Unlogged.

How am I supposed to send sky-born blessings
         if I don’t know when to press send?

How am I supposed to time the “Miss you already”
                  to hit *at cruising altitude*?

So here’s the deal:

You owe me
    a runway recap,
    a snack review,
    and at least one scandalous mid-air thought

    whispered in WhatsApp.

And maybe—
    just maybe—
    a kiss that tastes like turbulence
    and lands smoother than you did…

    on time,
    and all mine.