Spring Longing
I do the leaving.
I pack up my feelings into a small space in my chest,
and I move towards the exit.
I remember how it felt, the last time.
I remember every “last time” I’ve had with people I care about.
I remember the sound of my feet against the floor.
I remember the click of the apartment door, and the slight slam of the car door. I remember watching your back as you went through security, before crisply leaving the airport.
But, I leave. I leave first, and I leave.
I leave and I cry in my car in the 20 minute maximum parking lot. I leave and I cry in the passenger seat of my car as my friend Shawn drives us away. I leave and I sob, messy, and unforgiving. I laugh, and yell. I leave broken voicemails on my friend’s phone where I’m convincing myself more than her that I made the right choice.
I leave, and I look back countless times… but not until a year, or three, or even 5 years later when I sit down and stare at the blinking cursor and think about what I want to write about. I look back after a horrible date, I look back after I stumble across a poem, or song starts over the speakers.
I do the leaving, and then the leaving does me in.
