Five Minutes

3 min read

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darkangel1326's avatar
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There was little time left for us. Five minutes until we were separated for months once more. I wanted, so desperately, to tell him that he made me happy. How knowing that he existed, at times, made my life worth it a bit more. That I looked forward to seeing him more than I looked forward to any holiday in the calendar year. He was worth entering a National Contest for, and he was my inspiration to win it.

I wanted to tell him all of this, but there was only five minutes left. The plane was already boarding, and, lucky me, I was one of the last people boarding. He was here with me, talking and laughing like we usually do. I take a step forward, approaching the flight attendant taking the tickets for the flight.

Time was running out and I wasn’t sure how to say any of these things to him.

I looked over at him and saw him looking at the clock. His flight would board after mine left; he was going to one state while I went to another. Separated by miles, pursuing goals that fulfilled a passion inside of us. But I was pretty sure I was the only one who felt like a part of her was getting ripped away in returning home.

Three minutes and the line moves faster. I begin plotting how to linger around a bit longer, even if its just to see his smile once more, but notice he is looking back at his friends from his school.

He tells me they are going to board for the plane early. My world bursts under me as I see him begin to tell me good bye.

Not thinking, I hug him dearly, hoping my emotions will reach him in the way my words won’t. He’s stiff at first, but, eventually, loosens up and hugs me back.

He gives a little laugh and says good bye the same way he says hello; happy to have seen me, but saddened we have little time together.

I see his smile once more and feel my insides melt as he walks off. Just as I am about to turn away, I notice him giving me a hand signal we love. The one that means “No matter how you far you are, I will always be watching over you.”

A tear escapes my eye as I hand my ticket to the flight attendant. I know he won’t be able to see it, but, as I walk onto the plane, I send him that signal back.

As we takeoff, I close my eyes and hope he got my signal too. Even if it’s not the message I want to give him.
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