there is no good in goodbyes,
nor the rendition of the universe in who comes and goes,
when the lights have dimmed and I close my eyes,
I venture a seemingly lonely path when the cold wind blows,
there are no memories easily disposed,
from a soul who made me love my own,
for whom now may be the subject of my prose.
we savored the view of the sunrise,
and as the sun sets to dripping polychromatic skies,
I realized my soul was tethered with yours,
filled with a beautiful, dangerous, and impeccable force,
when words so widely known fail to express,
music and poetry were our language,
philosophizing life, death and even happiness
we begin to venture the chaos of our minds like a sage.
when the old wounds are pressed down to reopen,
and apologies begin to slice like a knife,
a sweet misery for an aching soul to resort to a pen,
weeping for time to heal what reason cannot.

the sunset is over, and as the darkness engulf us
I quietly cry and smile, our hands untwining
with such understanding that maybe this too, would pass
but how do we know when goodbyes become a new beginning?

IA