Leaving: a cadence, a beat.
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 this bag of memories like a boulder.
Leaving: a door closes on feelings, darker out there. Blackness, but somehow enables me to shine.
From this dark hallway I see roses in the moonlight.
The soft streetlight against the stars.
They have not forgotten me.
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.
Leaving: Yes, I am leaving.
Still, you might have the chance to get there before me.