Letters to Goodbyes II
[to the f u t u r e]
It still comes as a surprise, how much time we share. Oh, sorry, not you we. We dear-my-friend and I, and don’t you two know each other? His self-described nomadic lifestyle both gave you a relationship and strained it. But I started out about something else you know—time. Specifically the time he makes to wait to talk to be kind. All of it is good and right down to my bones. Even, would you believe, the time he takes to leave me.
Because sometimes you aren’t torn from me so I look back for you with clouded eyes, because I’ve been waitingwaitingwait that’s not what I meant Because I understand the commitments that cause him to slip out, but I hate hate hated how it happened in the instant I glanced away. Once I washed out after him on bare feet and called, “Leaving so soon?” Of course he did and still does often enough—but he hasn’t avoided you (not me! never was me) since.
Instead, he distracts from you. “I’ll see you tonight” on Sunday morning; “I’ll see you Wednesday” (or Friday) (or tomorrow). So I get to feel that upward curve on my lips rather than his absence like a hunger pang. Two quickly waning moons from today, I wonder if it might be, “I’ll see you this summer.” But after? He signs off with “…soon” or “…later” when he can’t remember a day, but you know as well as I (ohhh yes. you do.) the time comes when there is no certainty that a-sight-for-sore-eyes will be sooner or later. I don’t like you, Goodbye. But when he leaves, I want you there. I’d say please, but I think you owe that much.