Tennessee Nights

It's over, he says in a moment before takeoff. I don't know what they'll do now. And all those dreams of New York, of a life together after years apart, they drift into the mists of things that no longer are. A Ludlow street apartment suddenly cramped and unforgiving. She asks me later if we can fill the days, take her mind off what awaits behind the door.

You board your plane lightly, happy again to be traveling. The lights of an unknown town spread out below, a warm southern wind whispers welcomes into your ears. Put one foot in front of the other. 

Eventually you'll end up anywhere but here.