Leaving: a cadence, a beat.
A repetition in our minds, lost and forgotten.
A shoe box empty and discarded.
Painful, stumbling through, not around, this hurdle.
And still, caresses linger at the bottom of your bag
of memories like a heavy rock.
Leaving: a door closes on your feelings, it is scarier out there.
Darker, but somehow enables you to shine.
From this dark hallway you see roses in the moonlight.
The soft streetlight against the stars.
They have not forgotten you.
Upon leaving, a self-conscious,
thwarted, last attempt
to grasp a passing wave. Ride it to the shore:
A failed attempt.
A deep sense of false pride.
An aching troubled fit creeps along the path to the street
The front yard screams at you.
And the car.
And the buttons on your shirt.
Yes, you are leaving.
Still, I might have the chance to get there before you.