My heart hurts. Again.
Goodbye.

There is nothing left to be said but
Threadbare phrases, a cry into the dark

(You hurt)
Please be happy
(Talk to me)
Go on and fly
(Don’t leave me)

To prevent internal bleeding after cases of prolonged exposure, be sure to keep notebook paper and an ample supply of blue-black pens with you at all times.
Firmly apply to open wound. Press and hold. Never let go

This is for you. The dead around us rising in diaphanous forms, my dreams and fantasies dissipating like mist. This is for you, my words, colored spots of light in the darkest passages of our forged path, my symbols, as if an apt metaphor could cure soul-sickness. This is for you, these fragments of quivering thoughts that I’ve picked up, whose resonant frequency might align with both yours and mine. This is for you, the way that my words and emotions buckle and twist beneath me—take of it what you will.

I’ve said goodbye too many times already, blunt, lyrical, humorous, sad goodbyes. Each day we beat forward. I shan’t apologize either for looking behind my shoulder.

Shall we?