The Planes Aren’t Flying

The planes aren’t flying. 
The ports are closing. 
Travel is restricted. 

But I’m fighting my way to you. 
Every day. 

And I’d do anything to get there. 

I’ll stow away on a cargo ship, 
ride the great Pacific Ocean, 
for months on end. 
If it means I get to see you, 
standing face to face, 
at the edge of our future.


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