Boarded Southwest 2807 out of OKC, Gate 16, boarding group C, middle seat for me.
Squeezed between two folks, tray table down low, Window to the left, aisle to the right—no room to grow.
Captain’s voice calm over the intercom hum, “Folks, we’re on our way, Phoenix here we come.”
Patti settles in, headphones soft and low, Watches the city lights shrink to a gentle glow.
(Chorus)
These days it feels like more funerals than weddings on the calendar page,
More quiet goodbyes than champagne and bouquets on the stage.
She carries the names like tickets in her pocket, worn and creased,
But she’s still here flying, still finding some peace.
Middle seat or not, she’s moving through the blue,
Holding every memory, still reaching for the new.
The guy on the aisle reads a paperback thriller,
Lady by the window naps against the pillar.
Patti thinks of faces she’s loved and let go,
Laughter that echoed, then faded soft and slow.
She traces the armrest with a thoughtful hand,
Counts the miles rolling under like grains of sand.
The drink cart rolls by, offers ginger ale and smiles,
A small kindness drifting thirty thousand miles.
Out the oval window, clouds part like a curtain drawn,
Desert gold and mountain shadows greet the dawn.