Practise makes perfect, they say. I have been practising for a long time but I am yet to master the art of saying goodbye.
I’ve got the basics down, know how to mumble a light bye and turn away from an acquaintance or someone who is not dear to me. I even manage the cheerful ones to my loved ones,knowing our seperation would be short and concealing the pangs that still persist,the whisper of doubt that dances in my head.
But the forever ones haven’t been tamed. They gallop away, taking the right words with them. They leave me speechless, inhaling air that suffocates me, looking into eyes I’ll probably never see again and cradling my fissured organ that always falls.
They haven’t gotten easier in any language, even after all these years. Maybe because it is not only the word I give and leave behind.
Still, I’ll choke them out. I’ll blink back the tears and relegate you to your new place, right next to the others who sometimes plague my dreams and thoughts but never take over them.
And then I’ll be on my way,hoping against the calling hopelessness that I’ll perfect them along the way. Or that someone would make me stay and I wont need them anymore because,though I can handle them, I was never made for goodbyes.