The Real Goodbye
©chrysalis
I saw you on Market Street.
You still wear your hair long, just long enough.
You still turn all the pretty girls heads.
You can still make me sigh.
I watched from the window of that small cafe.
You know the one, the one where I reached nervously and my cappucino
splashed all over your very fresh baked banana cranberry muffin.
The one where you took my wet hand and said. "I love you."
I sat there and watched you walk along the street, pausing here and
there to admire something in one of those weekend vendor stalls.
You looked at ease, you looked at home among the bustling crowds.
You thrive in crowds.
I avoid them.
You were wearing that black ribbed sweater that you wore the first
Christmas we ever spent together.
I have a picture of you in it, with me in your arms.
I remember the warmth of your back that very moment where my hand
settled so familiarly.
You adored the camera.
I was looking up at you.
I watched you today and in the space of ten minutes,
I relived the entire length of our relationship.
Every smile, every kiss, every caress, every tear.
Every time you walked out the door.
Every time I swore it was the last time.
You never really believed that.
I never really believed that.
Somehow I thought no matter what.
I would be your little gray haired lady love.
You would still be the most handsome man in the world.
Your hand was clasped to hers.
She was petite.
I only had to tip toe just enough.
You smiled down at her,
and I remembered that very smile lighting up my heart.
And I finally said it.
Though you didn't hear it.
The real goodbye.
