I know it's almost over

I look down at the sidewalk while digging into the fold of my arm is the strap of an oversized bag and another on the ground, handle extended, and another strapped to my back — you know I always carry more than I should — and I’m frozen between you and the terminal entry, listening to the automatic double doors roll back and forth and back and I wait for the words to circle my empty mouth, but say nothing — surrender my breath and on exhale ask you to be here when I get back — knowing that you won’t — before swallowing my sword, turning, and forgetting to take notice when the doors finally slide open for me.