Books of Blind Goodbyes

More typical is the madcap rush
A decision made, flight booked, boxes packed
and gone, gone, gone
No lingering kisses or slow remembrance
No in-between grey of no longer here, but not there quite yet

Except for this time

It is no easy feat to shut the door on 5 years of a place
A heavy chapter with leather bound pages and bold stroked ink
The characters clamoring for their monologues and soliloquies
and because they mean the world to you,
you must give them due

Because, who knows? Right?
That's why it hurts, why the chapter is made of lead
From here forward, who knows
Who knows about returns, about futures
Who knows, truly, what comes next


All goodbyes are blind, folded against the reality of
stepping into the abyss

So, despite the urge to leave quiet, quickly,
letting yourself be a stain of lipstick on the mirror, a left behind scarf
You endure the ritual of letting go

You close the pages
because the alternative to being blindfolded
is risking that
forever
something,  a word, a lingering glance,
will be missing from your story