We are in the hotel in Chicago, ready to head back home. My seven year old is sound asleep, and my head is still spinning from a day of running and moving and driving and goodbye-ing.
So often, the goodbyes happen in a hurry. In the after, we have the quiet, and all the ways we wish we’d said the things that rushed from our lips.
Goodbye. I love you. I’ll miss you. Things take longer when you’re gone. My dragons go unfinished.
Keep creating,
Kate