moments around goodbye

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

At the edges of loss

we paint our faces and grow our claws

to hold on and scare away

that growing memory of darkness.

We run on drunken tip-toes

just past the open windows

so not to feel any coldness from outside.

Shades are fitted without measure or insight,

to hold in and blackout what seems to seeping through.

Still, night baulks at our thoughtful efforts,

and our hands reach out to find a cold pillow

that still has traces of the smell of their hair.

Comforting and cruel, we take a whiff to remember.

exhaling with hope and watery eyes,

they linger in our throat.