When you miss someone,
what do you do?
Cry,
laugh,
try to cover it up
like you don’t
care?
Do you write about it
or tell anyone else
or cry into your
bedsheets
at night?

Why do we care?
Why should I care
about someone who’s
in my life
for just a short time
and then
leaves?
It doesn’t make sense, but
I care.
I let myself love
and laugh
and relate.
Then all of the sudden,
it all goes…

away.

I mean,
isn’t that
life?

I dozed off a little once it was morning, and woke up to stewardesses opening window covers and serving breakfast.
The captain’s voice came on, in a prim, polite British accent.
“Good morning, passengers, we hope you had a restful night. We’ve just passed over the Isle of Mann, and will be beginning our descent into London shortly.”
Isle of Mann…London…Whoa. I peered groggily out the window. The sun was just getting high enough to lose its morning softness, and I squinted against its growing glare, trying to see down through the patchy clouds.

I might have been a great physicist, had I been given a brain that didn’t commence automatic emergency shutdown procedures at the first sign of anything more complex than simple multiplication.
As it is, my fate has limited me to having an enormous respect for the work that physicists do, and a passionate fascination with their field of study. Hence, I do have a rudimentary understanding of physics in a rather instinctual way, even though I couldn’t explain the mathematical technicalities if my life depended on it.

It was a strange sensation when the plane dropped back down through the clouds and I found myself staring down at Chicago through a torrential rain. It was such a shock when only seconds before I had been staring so raptly at the realization of my childhood imaginings, and I realized that this must be what it felt like to come back from Narnia.

For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by clouds. No doubt this love was greatly enhanced by the fact that I grew up in the American Midwest, where some of the most spectacular cloud formations in the world are the daily norm. Hours upon hours of my childhood and teen years were devoted to lying on the ground or sitting on a high vantage point, watching everything from cotton puffs to monstrous storm cells move overhead.

We had arrived at the airport two hours before our flight, like you’re supposed to. The trouble is that with a tiny regional airport like Springfield, getting through security takes next to no time, and we found ourselves with an hour and a half to sit and wait.
Once again, Amanda seemed completely calm and relaxed and I was trying desperately to imitate her, even though my mind, emotions, and internal organs were churning.

It all started out as a joke.
My best friend and her sister had just returned from a month-long excursion to the British Isles, and Amanda was telling me all about it. She mentioned a place in Northern Ireland where they could spend multiple nights in the same place, but explore a host of fascinating sights within walking distance in any direction.
“It’s amazing,” she said. “I want to take you there someday!”

With her whole body quivering in shock she let go of the dagger, and she ran.

***

He looked up as she walked through the doorway of the living area and headed towards the front door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. Gonna walk a bit."

"With a backpack and a flashlight? Where are you walking to?"

The tips of her fingers tapped her denim thigh impatiently while she scrambled an answer together.

"It's been five days since Kent went missing, Jax. I have a feeling he's out there. I have to keep looking."