how do i say it?

time flies all around us.
on the people mover belts,
on the escalators,
on the arrival & departure
on the sleeping traveler’s
on the weigh-ins, checkpoints,
on the baggage claims,
on the information booths,
on the steps & cadence,
on the steps & cadence
of all humanity,
until our steps diverge,
until i can’t see your
face on the 2nd floor anymore,
until, for a split second
you, — your face, your smile,
your dainty little hands
are gone forever to me,
and my insides instantly rip out.


“time flies” regardless if you’re
having fun or not. [Real Toads]


28 thoughts on “how do i say it?

  1. Angie, this is scary. “gone forever to me,” really scary. I went back through January trying to read between the lines. Your notes with Magaly on the Toads place makes me feel really bad for you. Forever?
    I’d ordinarily accept this as not being to you personally, but a third person not really existing, excepting for the comments I mentioned. Just in case it is you and her, in reality, I’ll pray. Still thinking, could be back later but time will have passed and “not a baby anymore.” Our granddaughter is growing up while away at college. We visited her last weekend. I have that on my other blog.

    1. Jim, I just sent my eldest overseas to study abroad. For just a split second I thought”Oh my God. What if I never see her again.” She is fine. Going on a luge in Queenstown, NZ right now!

  2. Your title reminds me of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and you are, indeed, counting the ways, Angie. Time does fly and I know the feeling of letting a daughter fly off into the unknown – it’s hard to let go. You’ve captured the atmosphere of the airport so well with the repetition and the list and emphasised the separation/goodbye by the change of rhythm and repeated word, and sentence lengths: That is a heartbreaking final line.

  3. She’s not gone forever, Mama…though, I’m sure it feels like it. Beautiful capture of a day in the airport – I keep notebooks full of observations and overheard conversations when I travel. I know my words would be much different if I were putting my girl on an airplane – you’ve got this!

      1. oh, and thanks for stopping by and leaving such a nice note at my pad… that one turned to be more about me than about my (tomorrow!-) 18 year old… dang.

      2. I know the feeling! I struggled with not owning my father’s curse of depression. Glad to say that’s not my struggle. We all have our baggage though, which is enough, am I right?

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