Departures Without Return

We watched the sky take you

the way we always do–

without looking up.

...

Just another departure board blinking,

just another gate call swallowed by coffee cups

and tired conversations.

We kissed cheeks, hugged deeply,

and said text me when you land

like landing was a promise

and not an uncertainty.

...

157 souls lifted into the ordinary.

That's what we called it– ordinary.

A metal body defying gravity,

threading clouds as if it belonged there,

like humans were always meant

to write their name across the sky.

...

You were one of them.

One of the we'll see you soon,

one of the it's only a few hours,

one of the people we let go of

without thinking about the word

fall.

...

Now the number sits heavy in my mouth–

157–

not a statistic,

but a room that will never be filled again.

A table stretched too long,

chairs pulled out for ghosts

who should be late,

who should be landing.

...

I keep replaying it–

not the crash,

I won't let my mind go there–

but the takeoff.

...

Did you look out the window?

Did you feel that small, sacred fear

when the ground pulls away

and the world shrinks to something

you can cradle into your eyes?

...

We all feel it.

We all ignore it.

We scroll.

We sleep.

We trust.

...

God, how we trust.

...

We trust the wings to hold,

the air to carry,

the unseen hands guiding steel through sky.

We trust that gravity will forget us

just long enough

to deliver us safely home.

...

And most days–

it does.

...

Most days we land,

unclasp our seatbelts like it was nothing,

stand too quickly,

reach for overhead compartments

as if we've earned the ground.

...

As if coming back down

isn't a challenging thing

we do without gratitude.

...

I wish we had known

that every landing is a return form the edge.

That every arrival gate

is a quiet victory over the impossible.

...

I would have held you longer.

I would have said it differently–

not see you soon

but come back to me.

Not safe travels

but thank the sky when it gives you back.

...

Now I look up.

...

Every time a plane crosses the horizon,

I stop –

count the seconds

until it disappears into distance,

and I whisper for strangers

what I never thought to say for you:

...

May the sky be gentle.

May the wings remember their purpose.

May the ground rise up to meet you

like it always should.

...

157 souls,

and one of them was yours–

which means the sky is no longer

just a place we pass through.

...

It's where I left you.

...

And every landing now

feels like a miracle

I will never take for granted again.