Goodbyes and What They’re Good For— Part 3: A Loss
4:16AM
You kissed my forehead
And it woke me up,
I remember the glare from the hall light
Pouring into the guestroom I was staying in.
Your silhouette and then eventually your face
Came into view as my eyes adjusted.
The alarm to my left said 4:16 AM,
“Is it afternoon or morning?”
My young mind asked.
Evidently, it was morning
And you had just come home from work.
We went across the hall to your room and watched a movie.
I remember playing games on your phone,
All the while, dreading going home.
Not because I didn’t miss Mum
Or want her there too,
But because I knew
I’d have to leave you
All over again.
And leave you I did.
Just as you left me.
You’re out there living your life
But the Dad I knew is dead,
If he ever existed outside of my head.
The sharp stubble on your face as you hugged me
Should have been a warning sign
That your love would forever come with discomfort.
See, you never taught me how to shave
Or how to even begin braving this world.
I taught myself.
So tell me,
How was this goodbye any good for me?
I’m still figuring that part out.
Or pretty much all of this, if I’m honest.
Ashes of You
These people, these places
Are burnt into my skin like cigarette stains.
I open a 20-pack of songs you showed me,
Chain-smoke them like you’re only a text away
And I’ll get another fix anyway.
But our cigarettes burnt out years ago
And the ashes of you are infused in these tunes.
These people and these places
Are nothing but little traces of nicotine
Fuelling me, ruling me through the night.
And on the rare occasion that I see a sunrise,
I grab a coffee and blast your songs
Because I was happy then.
And I can be happy now.
November
A gust of wind,
A chill in the air.
It’s November
And I'm still finding strands of you
In every little thing I do.
From the way I walk these streets,
To the spray of the same aftershave.
I see your hands in mine,
The same creases and lines.
You’re the green in my eyes,
The brown in my beard.
Isn't it weird
How we sometimes grieve things
That barely even existed?
But I can't resist it;
Seeing your silhouette in my shadow.
You’re everywhere and nowhere all the same
And these days it feels like I’m the one to blame
So all of this anger and all of this love
Will forever go untamed.
It’s November
And probably no one cares
But one day you’ll really be gone
And maybe all I’ll feel
Is a gust of wind
And a chill in the air.
Phonebox
They fixed the phonebox on Royal Avenue,
The glass lay there for weeks.
But almost as quickly as everything fell apart,
It was back together again
And I found it hard to trust
If it was genuine or not,
Because there’s still shards
Between the grooves of my boots
And a scar left over on my left hand.
But it’s all grand now,
The phonebox is repaired, and the glass is replaced;
It looks the same but feels two-faced.
I’m still waiting for the punch
That smashes the glass
All over again.
