It was the night before my early morning flight; I planned to be at the airport at 6am. “Come on,” I said. I threw an arm over him, mustering up some kind of tired tenderness. “I’ll be gone for nearly a week,”. It was cold and windy.
“I’m tired,” he replied.
“Me too,”. I was very tired.

We pushed our bodies together half-heartedly. It reminded me of how when I was a child I would nudge my dolls’ faces together, willing them to kiss. He knocked the top of his head and I circled my arm around his neck, laying my palm over the place that made impact.

I left quietly and thought of it as a closing of a chapter, but it wasn’t really anything. My spine felt crooked and badly slept on. I wanted something in me to alter while we were apart and I wanted to come back as a more exciting person, as though colder climates and sleeping in a strange bed could create a fundamental shift. On the bus to the airport all of my thoughts started with I want. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m going to completely bore you,” I admitted to him once, feeling panicked. He’d had a hand in my hair, tugging my head back, touching around my throat as if first laying eyes on it.
“Never,” he replied immediately. And that was the end of it.

In the morning my flight was delayed a little. I found a spot and napped dreamlessly at the airport, waking frequently, using my carry on as a pillow. Moving heavy-eyed to the gate when the announcement came to board.