Don't Say Goodbye
19 July 2007
She looked directly into my eyes
and said don't say goodbye.
I can't take it when you say goodbye.
Say anything, say you hate me,
say you don't want me,
say you think I'm like a monster
and you can't bear to look at me,
say I'm the end of a lonely road
and you don't want to walk it anymore,
but whatever you say, don't say goodbye.
If you don't say goodbye,
no matter what else you say,
the clouds can be as dark as midnight,
the rain can come in Biblical proportions,
the ground underneath can slide,
but if you don't say goodbye,
the possibilities remain
that the world will be whole again.
A few days later we argued.
It was not an end-of-the-world
sort of argument, but one
where certain words were said,
facts presented and unchallenged,
a certain sideways look and silence.
I went to work as usual.
When I came home the world was empty,
except for a brief note:
It's over. No more pain.
Well, I guess that's not quite the same
as don't say goodbye.
© 2007, Satya J. Gabriel