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how is it
I’ve grown weary
of the way you sip your tea –
the way you smile so unaware
of grief
that anchors me

every day –
in ten thousand ways
tho I cannot tell you why
the nights grow cold –
and I remiss
at telling you goodbye

as it was
before – as cannot be
your hand a comfort then
your voice – a whisper pining
a soulful welcome in

I wonder if you notice
or do you wonder as I do
of life beyond
the leaving –
a barter carried through

has it been years
or more to count
this distance now I feel
words without the strength to speak –
a hurt that will not heal

. . .

Author’s Note: Before you get concerned for me, I feel the need to explain. This isn’t about me, but rather the result of a conversation with a dear friend – one who has stayed beyond the leaving.