“I’m not going to look back, ok?”
I pull him a little closer, leaning into him, “Ok baby.”
I nod, “It’s ok, I understand.”
More kissing, a desperate clinging, touching, petting, a terrible reluctance.
“Who do you belong to, baby?”
“I belong to you, Ma’am,” he whispers in my ear.
I nod again, kisses, an inhalation of final tenderness, and underneath a yawning emptiness, a rising bitterness in my mouth already.
I finally pull away, “Bye beautiful. I miss you.”
“I miss you too… bye Ma’am.”
We part and I watch him walk away.
He turns to look back, and I feel my heart swell. He smiles sheepishly, caught. He blows me a kiss, and then another before he turns away again.
He gets a little further before he looks back again. I am still watching him, I am glad to see his face, I am made fuller, knowing that he has to make those last little connections with me. He waves.
He gives up the pretence then, and turns twice more before he makes it around the corner. I fight the urge to call him back to me, imagining his loping walk, his eagerness to do as he is bid giving his step a spring, and there would be more kissing.
I am happy for those final glimpses, for his need, for the smiles and air borne kisses, for those last little pieces that I can put in my pocket before I turn and walk away.