It always starts the same way.
"Hello it's been a-while."
And then half-formed regrets hidden under word layers,
wrapped up to
conceal, deceive.
A smile. Goodbye, farewell.

The ache doesn't come from parting.
Au Contraire dear one.
It comes from what-ifs, might-have-beens, should-haves;
and always the knowledge of walking away,
letting a part of you go,
a whisper on a breeze,
a prayer.