NO GOODBYES

 NO GOODBYES

I refused to say goodbye,
that brittle word like a door slamming shut
in the quiet hall of memory,
echoing too long, too final. It is far better to linger in the haze
of not knowing when the end has come,
to let the edges blur like morning fog
over a familiar path we’ve walked a thousand times. I prefer to drift through the habits of the day—
the steam rising from a chipped mug,
the way sunlight slants across the kitchen table
where laughter once spilled like loose change. As if tomorrow we’ll meet again for coffee,
you in your favorite corner booth,
stirring sugar into the dark swirl,
your voice weaving through the clink of spoons
and the murmur of strangers,
as if time itself is just a polite suggestion,
not a thief in the night. Let the calendar pages turn without notice,
the seasons shift in their subtle betrayal—
leaves falling, snow melting into spring mud—
while I hold onto the illusion, soft as worn cotton,
that nothing ever truly ends,
only pauses, waiting for the next warm hello
hidden in the ordinary rhythm of days.