All that I’ve left will never take away from what I can still give. But what I’ve left is caught-up in memories that are strewn across cities from Carlsbad to Chicago; Cleveland to Charleston.
As I fly thousands of miles above the ground, a piece of me still lies in her hands below. I believe that’s where it belongs.
I wish I knew how to ask her for another chance, but I don’t. I want to give it a try, but I won’t. I miss her, and I’ll keep on missing her, until we meet again.