Sometimes when you're on the road
I miss life before cell phones
Postcards were the only way to tell
You landed at all
Your absence in my life broken up by
The occasional pay phone call
Now I can text you as I
Make my meals for one
You call from anywhere
To tell me what you're doing
Sending me photos from your phone's camera
So I know exactly where you are
There's no gap
No distance to make my heart grow fonder
So just to confuse you I turn off my cell phone
I don't turn on the computer
I let the phone ring
Sitting on the couch
Reading a book published prior to 1970
Counting the hours to when
Your plane was scheduled to land
I put on my coat once I figure you should be in the air
On your way home
And when you come from the tunnel into the airport
I grin
We embrace
As if the time apart had physically hurt
And I whisper "welcome home"
You respond, low in my ear
"I love you more than yesterday"