Departure

I walk outside, sun reflecting off my freshly polished aviators.
Today's going to be a stellar day.
I check the fuel, the oil, and the miscellaneous, but my mind is somewhere else.
How can I focus my concentration on the ground, where it's obvious,
My mind belongs in the sky without reservation.
I hungrily grasp the yoke in my trembling hands, running through checks fluently.  
My hand touches the throttle, and a surge of anticipating energy fills my body, just as I crank the key in
the ignition.
Oh, how I missed the hum of the prop; striking the air, ready to fulfill all my ambitions.
I run through my radio calls, almost like clock-work, eager to depart from the smooth asphalt heated by
the soothing sun.
As I approach the runway, I know this is it. Everything I've been striving for has lead up to this flight.
To every flight.
I apply full throttle, and feel the roll of the wheels on the ground, eager to depart, just as impelled as my
soul.
As I catch onto ground effect, I approach uncertainty;
Why can't two tanks of fuel last an eternity?