A long sigh
like an exhale
and then a deep breath
I don’t think we’ve ever actually said goodbye, have we?
I spend most of my time
swallowing all the words I want to say
along with the rest of my tears
The queue for airport security is the worst
Because all I can think about
is these stupid lengths of fabric
and how easy it would be
to slip under them all
and come back to you
I don’t think you’d object
Then I come home
where I grew up
and reacquaint myself
with the rest of my things
Remembering the load of washing on the stairs
the types of tea in the cupboard
the shape and size of my bed
how chocolate tastes different here
than it does with you
I think it has to do with
the way it melts
do you think so too?
Perhaps the most painful part of the process
is the slow
That I cannot make your coffee
I can’t watch you do your hair
I can’t call down to you from the top of the stairs
I can’t scold you for leaving your clothes everywhere
How am I doing? Did I leave anything out?
is a thing that happens to me
is on a continuum
a sliding bar
and half-formed wishes
But you know all of this already, don’t you?
I was wrong, by the way.
The most painful part of the process
is that I can feel you