I suppose it is that time of year.
The uplifting of every color and life
above bare branches and gray towers of fear.
Light against dark.
Bright burned shadows.
Stark and oppressive.
These days joy and growth are wrested from slow dying.
These are the days in which we relearn how to live.
I have never been good at goodbyes.
More often tears in my eyes goodbye.
Usually get high right after goodbye.
Better drunk, but seldom time to prepare enough.
Never had a honey I’m leaving you for good so get nice and lit kind of bye.
Left not high and throat dry at goodbyes, and I fix it for myself just after.
Admitted. I’m just not that sort of pastor.
To get bent or to mentor is a tough choice.
And when it comes to choices,
I’m never given a lot. Mostly only two.
Take it like a dog who has had the fight beaten out of it.
Take it quiet and easy,
or move, brood, wield attitude and argue.
And I have always taken the second.
The rotten decision. Like I want to use it all the way up before it spoils.
I always want to recycle something someone decided to throw away.
I have never been good at goodbye. Been a jerk, a monster, a child.
Never the good quiet-nature guy they wanted me to be.
I’ve said goodbye to many people and many things.
I can honestly say that until now I’ve never let any
off the hook easy as that phrase implies.
Besides, there isn’t really a good bye.
So much as a good time
to leave a mess
for someone else.