The air pricked at the back of my throat. Sour. My hand didn’t want to wave, my head didn’t want to look back. But how could I not? She was crying through her smile. Like a snapped guitar string, such a distinguished sound, my best friend. I could not ignore her.

“I’ll see you soon” was the lie I told and her gaze, in that moment, believed me. It was, however, followed by a long and drawn out sting. She choked,

“No, you won’t.” Penelope always chuckled through her doubt, this time was no different. Her throat stretched the sound past airport security and around my face, yanking me forward. I laughed. I didn’t mean to. I meant to scream back “I will miss you every day in Milan” but what I did was laugh. Before I could correct myself, my body was ushering toward my gate.

Now sat on the plane, my legs bruised from accidentally hitting my suitcase against my thighs, I am holding back regret. I really hope this isn’t what being 20 is all about but something tells me I’m wrong.