Passengers ascend onto the plane and file into their respective seats.

I'm riding in economy class as I can't afford much else. I have a window seat that I should be enjoying but can't as I'm too worried about her. What will she be doing now? How is her head doing? Has she forgiven me? Will she ever? How will I even find her in Greece? I have a few vague directions from one of her friends but it may still be some time before I manage to track her down.

The aisle seat next to me is taken by a pleasant old man with an affinity for pocket watches.

Before take-off I bring out my phone and headphones, might as well listen to some music to help pass the time.

I turn up Balance And Composure and Bad Suns, underrated bands I used to listen to always with her.

I tuck my feet up and wrap my mohair sweater tighter around myself. Grief has somehow made me colder lately, eroding layers of my defences, making me more susceptible to the harsher elements.

Two lone tears seep out of my eyes as I once again berate myself for singlehandedly being the architect of our decimation.

Why couldn't I have let her save me?