I don’t think I know what goodbyes are supposed to sound like. you always leave with a silence; something heavy with all its mute. I don’t understand slamming doors or screeching tires. it is always quiet with you, always leaving before the ground gives way, before the wind picks up.
and I am not ready for it this time. I am not ready for the sound to catch up to us. after all this quiet, I am not ready for the hollow to turn loud. for the finality of it. I am not ready to hear the echoes of every muted goodbye. I am not ready for the sound of you leaving.











