there are the love stories for the ages,
sweeping epics,
lasting legends,
tales immortalized in ink and song-

(- this is not a love story.)

this is the only beer i drink that night,
this is blue-streaked hair and beautiful eyes,
this is the mouth i want to kiss,
this is your plateful of truffle fries,
this is the sound of my name on your lips,
this is the embrace you wrap me in,
(this is me in a bar, down on my knees,
dear lord, forgive me, for i do sin)

(- this is a goodbye i can never say again.)

you were farewell from the very first hello,
broken heartbeats,
whispered longing,
ten minute love stories for the lost.

i.
i'm twelve years old the first time my life ever ends. the streamers and balloons hung up in the hall are gaudy and reminiscent of a garbage truck. graduation goes by faster than any of the hour-long rehearsals. perhaps it's my imagination, but the audience blurs out before my eyes when they hand me my makeshift diploma and i bow a last farewell.

basement one.
doors opening.

ii.
thirteen is a big deal. god is found in the depths of an abandoned foxhole and lost to the fading glamour of megachurches, pseudo-friendships, pomp and circumstance. maybe some goodbyes are for the better. it's a hard lesson to learn.

level one.
doors opening.

iii.
i'm fourteen and i haven't seen the world yet, raw and naive and soft to the touch. i open the newspaper in the morning, hoary in my hands, and i discover that some names don't make the front page until they're in lieu of an obituary. i never read the newspaper again.

level two.
doors opening.

iv.
when are you closer to twenty than you are to ten? it's competition season when the stroke occurs in a land abroad i know nothing about. i visit every day after school. these are not all lies: sometimes it's harder to see uv drips and nurses' charts than a gravestone.

level three.
doors opening.

v.
sweet sixteen is anything but. the previous statement is a flagrant lie- but then it has always been easier to say goodbye to the bitter and the reviled, than all we have ever known and loved. the walls of hospitals, of schoolyards, of departure halls, have heard the sincerest au revoirs, spilling summer-stained from unpainted lips and falling into shaking hands.

level four.
doors closing.

past:

step off the diving board. crest the currents. close your eyes and take a leap of faith. the unknown is not as sinister as it seems.

and when the windchill of disappointments bite down to the bone, remember
there is more to life than this.

future:

pause and breathe (in, out, in). cast your gaze on the sunbeams above. fall into the valleys of despair. when do we stop learning? we never really do.

and when the swell of nostalgia sweeps over you and wrings the air from your lungs, remember
the only easy day was yesterday.

present:

run. stay still. pace yourself. go breakneck. hold your tongue. spill the words. listen. speak. close your eyes. see the world.

and when the world is consumed by nothing but the now, remember
the breakers crash against the shore and the sand slips through your fingers-
every moment has its end.
and never are we ready for the beginning.

if everything else you abandon in the recesses of the life you left behind, remember this:

(when you are holding back the explosion of a scream in the middle of the corridors, when you have a fist in your mouth and sobs rising in your throat while sitting in a lonely corner, when everything seems hopeless and the only way out of despair and anguish is the bottle of pills on your desk or the ladder up to the roof)

- you will always have something to return to. beyond the brick and mortar, beyond the concrete and tile, beyond the only home you have ever called your own or known as yours.

because home is people.

it always has been.

beer and cigarettes,
your bitter lips, shaking hands
hold me close, my love

watch the sun rising
(golden rays through the window)
and let the light dawn.

this is how you leave- as if it isn't a last goodbye. as if tomorrow, the sun will rise once more and nothing will have changed. do not say 'forever'. believe with all your heart that you will return to all you have ever known, that the path you are walking has not diverged. lies are easy to tell.

this is how you leave- quietly, with all the tacit promises that silence avows. with your step as soft as rainfall. let your prayers be unspoken and may they never cross your lips. never make a wish you know to be futile. lies are hard to hear.

this is how you leave- with tears in your eyes and a scream lodged in the valley of your lungs. hold the city to your ears and your hands to your heart and let the sobs overwhelm you till you can no longer draw breath. then (and only then) bury the shards of your heart in the graveyard of forever, and move on.

this is how you leave- with pomp. with fanfare. with the knowledge that you have been the best you could be and done all you could do. remember to celebrate. there is so much more to life than the cotton-soft memories we fall back on when the landscape is bleak. the thorns are as important as the roses.

this is how you leave- as if you were never there at all. as if the years have been nothing more than a dream that leaves you where you wake. deny. forget. put a band-aid over the scar that gapes across the expanse of your chest, and sleep easy.

this is how you leave- you never really do. goodbyes are hard to say. but trust in your hellos. to every end there is a beginning, always and forever.

this is how you leave-

you don't.

to you, sweet stranger:
remember, remember.

hold a miracle in your hands-
lights; the light of all lights;
beyond the darkness,
before the end.

be like the roses-
know how it feels
to be sad. pathetic.
but alive, and real.

let nothing daunt you-
not fear. not might.
at the brink of deliverance
be truly infinite.

we break we burn
(the casualties are ceaseless)
to be the first to say goodbye
will never be a weakness

remember the sound of
the planes in the night
before the dawn breaks
so fair, so bright

let the light tremble-
let the trade winds blow,
may you never forget
all you have ever known.

for all that is lost
to the churning seas,
the kindness, the strength
never forget to be.

for truly there is no battle,
no war to be won.
the world is full of stories
but the stories are all one.