Sailing Away

I remember that first time you left.
You left for the Outback--Down Under.
And I imagined you in strange, far off lands--
places where the water in the toilets supposedly spun backward.

When I was young,
Your trips home eclipsed everything else.

You were my North Star.
Even when I couldn't see you, I felt your presence
and knew you were always there.

You spent so much of your time sailing away.
Always leaving me back on shore,
waving goodbye long after you were out of sight.

It gets old, after awhile.
Waving after someone who never looks back.

As I got older, the world got smaller.
The oceans between us shrank to
puddles of no consequence.

And still you stayed away.

I realize now that you're only human.
Just like me.

And that even though you were always sailing away,
I never once tried to stop you.