He was not the first
to leave, nor will he be
the last, but you
are past the point
of caring, of opening
your door when you hear
his footsteps on your walk,
of answering your telephone
when he is lonely and just
wants to talk or cry,
of melting when he shares
his secret smile—the one
that promises to grant
your every wish. He may not
have been the first to leave,
but you are certain, now,
are past the point
of caring, of lingering on
the sharp edge of goodbye.
(c) 2019, by Hannah Six
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