Her bags are packed; she says she's ready to start her life.
Driving down the long gray road –
recalling the great times, laughing at the disastrous –
as it starts to rain,
the windshield fights the drops as my eyelids fight my tears.
As I pull up to her new callous neighborhood,
I think, at home I can give her
all this and more,
as I pull up to the new place that she'll call home,
her face displays her eagerness, explains her
need to explore.
So, with a hug that's too tight,
and a stare too full of guilt,
I let her walk away –
knowing
that even if I hadn't,
she would have laughed with some
smart remark and
continued on her path.