The Golden Age

It’s 7:29 a.m., Eastern time. I just sat down across from an Asian gentleman who’s dead asleep. His watch, nice, normal.  His face is casually tan–more likely from vacationing. I’m in route to Baltimore from Philadelphia. My heart hangs heavy and my head lighter than my suitcase.

I’ve forgotten all about jet lag. All I can think about is him and it brings me to tears. I can feel those salty fuckers starting to swell in my lower eye-lids–waiting patiently to trickle down my cheeks when no one is looking.

The golden sun is rising, promising a new day. I’m not too certain whether I’m ready for this day I’ve been promised. How about just one day that lasts a little longer than it should. Just long enough to hold him, kiss him. Lay silently next to each other. Maybe just enough time to feel completely rested.

Do Your Thang

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