Leavings

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of you, lone figure, silhouette, watching me drive on down the hill. I catch a glimpse of you, watching me, waving.

You leaver, left behind. You pioneer, left to observe as I journey into a new land. You leaver, you stay, you grant me freedom to come and to go.

Only—what is this in me that cannot bear to stay and cannot bear to go?

I talk of “presence” and “intentionality” and still our time has been fragmented and fraught with distraction. All this time we have been two moons orbiting separate planets.   

How can I leave when we have not truly seen each other? When we have not truly spoken? When the moment of encounter slipped through my fingers? 

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