you learn to burn farewells like photographs
because closure cannot be found in words
whispered over forsaken ground to deaf bones;
and when the shadows creep into your what ifs,
you find the nights are easier
when you give your demons names--
they will be kinder to you
than all the words you never said.
it is only when the lid closes
to never be lifted again
and suddenly you can’t remember their face,
that you learn there is no such thing as goodbyes,
and every time it rains
you tie your shoes a little tighter
and walk a little faster
because someday the ground will claim you, too.