On His Departure

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You were departing, leaving me.  As you walked away a sharp awareness came upon me.  The world around me was merely a stage.  I headed for the coffee shop in order to settle my feelings by doing something deliberate.  Surrounded by people bustling with trays and animated chatter brought an everyday ordinariness to grasp.

I drank the coffee feeling a strong sense of aloneness.  A familiar struggle started within me, one where I tell myself I must cope with being alone, alone I must be, alone from all these people surrounding me, a huge void that I must conquer and I summon all my strength.

At quarter to seven I hurried to the observation deck.  You were in that odd looking capsule ahead of me.  Mankind had set against me with metal and engines; they had made the power to separate you from me, pluck my soul and leave me spent and empty.

I watched the plane fly out.  It was a rare, fine morning, the hills clearly defined against the blue sky, the air was fresh; a perfect day.  A childhood chord pulled in me, a reflection of my first recollections of the splendour of early mornings.

I wondered how you felt, and hoped you weren’t too tired to enjoy the excitement of flying.  I wanted you to be free and happy, although I was lost. I tried to think of the exultation I would feel on your return, but I couldn’t lose my empty feeling.

After so little rest before your departure, I returned home.  I tried to sleep the afternoon away, but as I lay deep in my pillow I was saturated in thoughts of you.  It was a hot day, one I would normally attack with zest.  The birds were chirping and cicadas screamed in high pitched unison outside my window, all conspiring to keep me awake and hurting in my loss of you.  I wanted sleep to overtake me, but my mind was as alert as a cat.  I was revelling in picturing you, reliving every detail of our last night together and the few weeks we had known each other.  I thought of the way you have of understanding me, relieving me of my nervousness with your calm reassurances, the manner in which you held my hand, guided me, and made me aware of my womanhood, of where I belong, of who I am.

The blue dress hangs there;  I will always think of it as your dress, the dress my heart sang in.

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