You’re Leaving on a Jet Plane

My best friend is moving half a world away today.  This is for her.


An ocean, some islands, a few dozen countries.

An alternate timezone; a 3 am yawn here, a 6 pm shrug there.

Unfamiliar accents and fur-coated walks on oddly-named streets

from a shared edifice to a new campus.  Buildings of

scholarship and domesticity, of new habits and faces.

These are the measurements of distance,

of the differences in circumstances that occur

when one soul diverges from another.


But these poor numbers will have no impact.

We will scoff at them, and laugh at them, and devise

a system that is truly our own.

Constant connectivity of pictures and of words,

of “:)” and “:P” to describe the pictures without words.

The yen to hear a familiar giggle, satiated by sporadic

phone calls that alleviate the urge, but only just.

Loathed virtual sessions and blurry pixels, we will have to bear

because the alternative, of nothingness, is unbearable.


Fierce typing on keyboards that tire of our tirades

of life, love, loss and laughter.

Anecdotes of mornings spent on swings, see-sawing

through hazy nights spent dancing, fumbling,

looking for ways both down stairs and up.

Stairs and hallways licked with sweat and tears,

remnants of shared journeys through tunnels of ecstasy.

Morning rituals of tea but never enough milk,

always out of sugar, and varied recollections of what

had transpired before dawn.


These measures will be of our own making,

not of distance but its antonym,

of togetherness that is not hindered by time or space,

of comfort that needs no introduction,

of familiarity that need not be labeled,

and a shared history that cannot be over writ.

Till we meet again, my soul.


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