Flypaper

September 12th

There is an art to you and me.
You make promises, while I sit and wait.
Sound familiar dear?
It should, because it's happened so many times, I've lost count.

And today, I sat in the grass,
still wet and cold,
watching the planes take off.

One of them carries you away
into a world where I can only dream of.
Into a world I can barely touch.

I miss you.
I hate you.
I love you.