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Is there a thing called goodbye?

Goodbye from where…

and from whom?

When goodbye is not goodbye anymore

it twists, it bends, it changes its skin.

It becomes bad-bye,

sad-bye,

bored-bye,

dude, bye.

But what if

just what if

I don’t return?

No.

No no no

don’t say goodbye.

Because deep down it pinches

sharp, like a memory with teeth

right here…

in my heart.

I don’t know why.

But that word sounds distant,

far like someone walking away

down a long corridor

with no footsteps left to follow.

Even if I know you’ll be here tomorrow,

even if we meet again,

next hour, next day

still,

goodbyes are not for me.

I have collected too many goodbyes

like old letters I never opened.

Some returned,

some vanished into air.

Some broke me,

shattered me into pieces.

Some

some assembled me…

beautifully.

And the ones who fixed me

they’re the ones

long gone.

Maybe that was the real goodbye.

The quiet one.

The one you only realise

after the door has closed.

Maybe it’s just a word

simple, ordinary

but it carries weight, heavy weight,

and my mind

can’t carry it.

Still…

if someone says it,

what can I do?

I will hear it.

Even when I don’t want to.