Week 35

Every time I land
I wonder if the song
playing on my headphones
is the last song I'll ever listen to.

I wonder if people will ever find my poems,
especially the unpublished ones,
the ones I started
but never finished
because I never knew what to say.
Now I know what to say
at this edge between life and death,
"I'm sorry, I should have done more
but I think I loved enough,
maybe it was a little
but it was enough.
Lord, have mercy.".

But the plane lands
and it's summer
so the brakes work just fine,
nothing slides,
and I'm alive,
my last thoughts forgotten
to be remembered again
the next time my heart drops.