Within a month I was thinking about it. Thanksgiving. Oct 22. Nov 4. But I didn’t have the language. I didn’t know how to go back. I wasn’t sure what would be different, even though I wanted it to be. You had said, “This is my last resort—I don’t want to lose you.” And ultimately it had the effect you wanted. (Sustained—even my test began 23 days ago.) But there were other factors—perhaps necessary—which meant we were not immediately allowed the space for the change to take hold. Calmness. Maturity. Now I’m in the airport, staring nervously at my ticket. A one-way flight I’m not sure I should take. For now I will simply hold the ticket, wait until the final warnings ring out over the PA. As from a window I scan the airfield for arrivals, departures. Last minute detours, returned flights. 

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