I’m tugging at your finger sitting behind, our last bits of
physical contact. You’re staring outside - a look that’s distant and sad.
A tear threatens to fall; I sniff and brush it away.
You soon fall asleep on the front seat, your head drooping from
side to side. With one hand still tugging on your little finger, I use the
other to hold you in place.
Airport is here and our time is up, you turn to give me one
last longing look. All I want is to run back to you - instead, I turn and walk
away.