Lonely Planet

I should be picking the Mirror up from the airport right about now; but I'm not. I'm not, because she didn't get on the plane to come from London to Metropolis.

I've known that she wouldn't for several weeks (since that phone call), but it's still tough to make it to the point in time that you waited six months for, and then it all turns to dust in your hands. The next two weeks are going to be a bloody nightmare.

And to top it all off, tonight's going to be an all-nighter. I have some serious work to get done. That means I can't sleep off the feeling; it will haunt me for the next fifteen or eighteen hours that this was supposed to be our first day together since late September.

It's all bollocks.