Silently I observe as the contradictions roll off of tongues. Where once I felt reactionary, I now feel compassion for a soul so wandering; a spirit so unguided, it is robotic, methodical, unfeeling and closed in a coffin.
Sometimes goodbyes are opaque. There is no definition of solid pathing inside the cracks. Time drifts us on. We knew each other once. One of us changed. You didn’t. The contradictions become light, and I smile. It’s okay to go.
Quippish jokes hurl criticism disguised as humor except it doesn’t hurt anymore. I stand seeing you pitiful, and wonder, what would healing look like in you?
What would a love blossom become inside of your chest, spreading happiness into your throat? What if your smiles glowed from your eyes?
You see, I am fragile. I am dried dandelions shattered by the slightest breeze, so please, be tender when handling me. And when the pressing of your thumb, weighted by the oxymoron of your existence, leaves more bruises on my petals, I must seed myself in a garden alone. Where once was home stands a lonesome brilliance.
You wonder as the minutes turn to hours. And hours to days which morph into months and I’m in the announcements of a newspaper, a box that leaves you shocked where a twin flame becomes ignited in the black and white print.
Sometimes goodbyes become invisible as time erases the unnecessary, leaving space for the relevant held by arms adorned with acceptance.
You can see wind. Just gaze the trees.