... and I don't want to see you. Instead I have booked flights away from here, a long way away from here.
I don't want to see you, not against the long draw of the day, nor as punctuated progression against the backdrop of the season. The seasons no longer change or shift, but interrupt each other. The skies have little time for the mind. They are full of planes leaving you.
Every time I return, it is from further afield. Each time the distance I travel is greater and the journey takes longer.
This is because I am needed, I tell myself.
You are not, I tell myself.
You probably have a horrible head cold and look awful, I tell myself.
Feel better now.