May 3, 2007
Iím shaking, searching faces in the airport. Two years. Five thousand miles. I see you and I need water. You left a boy but came back a man. When our eyes meet, your smile looks tired, relieved. In the elevator, I want you to hold me, but there are too many people. Our fingers brush and I feel the tiny hairs on my arms rise. In the taxi, your scent, warm and earthy, sends lightning through the core of me. You rest your hand on my leg, and I feel my heart pounding, hear the blood rushing. Not enough air.