It’s a word everyone says at some point in their life.
Sometimes you mean it, sometimes you don’t.
& most of the time it has more than one meaning.
Goodbye: I’ll see you later.
Goodbye: I’ll see you tomorrow.
Goodbye: I’ll see you soon.
Goodbye: I hope I’ll see you one day.
Goodbye: I hope we meet again.
Goodbye: I have to go because I’m hurting you.
Goodbye: I have to go because you’re hurting me.
Goodbye: I have to say it only because you’re giving me no choice.
You get to choose who you say hello to.
You can be polite & say it to a stranger.
You can say it to new people you meet & grown to love.
Before every goodbye there was a hello.
& you got to choose.
You got the opportunity to acknowledge that person into your life.
You know what you don’t always get to choose…
If they stay.
Their goodbye may not be your goodbye.
You may see no good in leaving them behind.
For a day, for a year, for forever.
You may want to hold onto that hello more than you want to hold onto the sound of their voice, or the smell of their hair or the color of their eyes.
It is a cruel word, goodbye.
Because for most, there just isn’t anything quite good about it.
I’ve heard it all before,
that one day I won’t miss you
I won’t love you anymore
and perhaps that could be half true
that I will not miss you
but I don’t think it is possible that
my heart could forget someone like you.
You know, people love to say that opposites attract. And maybe that’s why I tried so hard to make us work. The girl who measures two teaspoons of sugar to put in her tea and the boy with calloused palms, climbing every mountain he can because he likes the way the stars look when nothing is in their way. Frothy milk and adrenaline. We looked like idiots together. You at my charity dinners in a poorly tailored sport coat. Five o'clock shadow. Bad jokes. And me scaling the rock climbing wall with slippery hands. Two feet above ground. A loose cotton dress. But laughing. Both of us always laughing. At me and you and this stupid world for working in a way that let the two of us need each other so desperately. Opposites. You’re damn right they attract.
But attraction and commitment were never the same thing. Maybe you always knew that. And that’s why you laughed. Because you knew that one day, your girl would stand on Everest. Scream to the stars. Drink her coffee black. But me, I’m still learning. Learning as you tell we want different things. Learning as you drop off every piece of myself I’ve left at your place, nothing folded, the toothbrush tangled with hairs. Learning as I sit here writing about the boy who bounced from cliff tops to see the stars and the girl whose feet never left the ground, whose eyes only ever knew how to watch him walk into clouds and disappear altogether.
I’ve been loved before, it was the type of love teenagers have. You love one another until something goes wrong. I don’t want that anymore, I’m too grown for that. I want the type of love that little children offer, the type that is quick to forgive and pure.