14 Hours From Now

The days have dispersed. This is it. I have ticked off the fifty-five days. I have done my time. Tomorrow I will board the plane that brings me back to the safety of your embrace, to the home I've built deep within your crooked heart. And when you see me, my head poking above the rest of the crowd, the wind will banish from your aching lungs (you'd been holding your breath since I left) You will cradle me close in disbelief, wondering if this is all one cruel joke your sister played behind your back, but I will assure you that I am here, I am here, and my wasted heart will find solace in yours.