poured out before bed
I look out over the airplane wing, swirl the ice in my Sprite Zero, and drop my head on Mr. Whine’s shoulder.
“It’s so haaaaard,” I say, half speaking, half sighing. “They’re all such great programs… I think it just comes down to where you think we could be happy, where we could make a home for the next 5-7 years.” The noise of the engines makes my voice seem small and unsure.
Mr. Whine gives me that crinkled-eye smile that makes it impossible for me to fret.
“Any of those places would be great… And, besides, home is wherever I’m with you.”