The twelfth of never

It’s not like it’s goodbye

I’ll see you in few months

you say;

but I can tell from your eyes

that stopped seeing me

sometime before today,

that you are already

far from here from now

from me

looking forward to

something

someone other;

this necessary separation

is a welcome excuse

an easy out

an opportunity

to let something die

by neglect

(holding on yet letting go)

rather than

pointing out with a

(painful but compassionate)

hard rip and tear

that which is already dead

to you…

It’s not like it’s goodbye,

you lie

hoping to avoid

the messy business of

a shattered heart

that bleeds through

devasted eyes

that hurt and blame

and beg and implore

for more…

It’s not like it’s goodbye,

you say…

as you walk away.