Six Foot Blonde

I saw her first from across the terminal

Then again at the gate

The last thing I needed was a six foot blonde to remind me of how drunk and stupid I can be

The last thing I needed was someone to remind me of you

From my seat, the cross check done, the door closed, the plane moving back

I sent you a quick email

Two words

The truest two words I’ve ever sent to you in the thousands of words we’d shared previously or since

I closed my eyes but it only made the memories more poignant

Your skin under my finger tips

You whispering to me when it was over

That denim skirt

At the baggage claim I eyed that six foot blonde

But not for the reasons she is used to being eyed

For this moment, she wasn’t her, she was you

And I was I,

And for a fleeting second I considered approaching her

To tell her, to tell you, in person, what I had emailed

That I’m sorry