Saying Goodbye

SAYING GOODBYE

I re-visit the room often in the eye of my mind.  The way the sunlight filters through the shades that cover the bottom half of the window, so no one can look in.  The view of the trees through the open space above it.  This room became home for my words and thoughts even if I never quite found it comfortable or cozy.  It was always an odd mix of cool and warm, never fully both, but it was where my words found a place to land.  That is, until I chose the wrong ones, so now I come here only in my mind.  But like all things in this world, even in my mind I find that I can never truly go back.  Even here it is not the same.  It is more reflection than substance.  Mainly, you are no longer here.  Years past, I could find you in this room, waiting for me, but now you have gone.

I need to find a way to say goodbye, because even though you aren’t here anymore I still am.

I glance at the empty chair where you used to sit. I touch the arm of it with my hand and then I do the un-thinkable and sit in your place.  I turn to look at the couch where I always used to sit.  To see what you must have seen and how I must have looked from this side of the room. My eyes aren’t yours though, so all I can see is my own perception looking back.

The colors in the room have all faded.  They aren’t even sepia, but a grainy black and white like an old movie.  It is time to let this space and you go.

I stand, run my hand across the blanket on the back of the chair and open the door.  I look at the desk half hoping to see you sitting behind it where you seemed most distant in the real version of this room, but even there the chair sits empty.  I step through the door, but leave it wide open.