I know you hate those figures and symbols of letting go,
but I can’t help producing them and surrounding myself with them;
I can’t help brimming over with them,
for I am prone to goodbyes and fare thee wells.

I know you deny those hardships of estrangement and decay,
but I can’t help mirroring them back to you -
right into your eyes
where the reflection of myself
keeps staring
and gives the lie to your smile.