i am Old Salamano.

Pulled my luggage out of the attic the other day so I could start packing for my trip. Grabbed a pair of scissors to remove the old tags from my last trip.

And I wanted to cry right then and there.

I remembered sitting on the floor in your room last winter, finishing up my packing. You rose from the bed and brought scissors over to carefully cut off the old airline tags as I watched quietly. I stared at the printing on them, mind reeling. PDX to YYC. Portland to Calgary. Me to you. Me to you to us. Within hours they would be replaced with new tags, sending me back (your arms feel like) home. I didn't know (how could I know?) that it would be the last time I saw ever you. I didn't know.

We went to bed and I spent the night lying awake. I already felt so far away from you, with your back to me once again in sleep. So far from you, and yet I could still touch you. But you were mine, and I was yours. I whispered "I love you" to your figure breathing shallow under the blankets. And I did love you. So much. I did and I did and I do and I always will.

I stared at the tags from Air Canada for a long moment before they rested at the bottom of my trash bin.