I Must Be Gone

There are times in every relationship when you feel the thing to do -  the choice to make, plan to follow, the option to prioritize - is to leave. You may or may not be right, but you make the choice, although sometimes the choice makes you.

Once the choice is made, the actions that follow; whether they take a moment or years, whether they happen in tears and blood, or quiet desperation, or whether they come as welcome news to the other half of the equation, those actions inevitably affect others, so how you act is yet another set of choices.

This is an older piece, from February of last year, and was prompted by my friend and neighbor struggling with this very choice.


There is no mistake; it is now time for me to be gone.
I can tell because there no longer is time to avoid the dusk,
and as I walk, the sad street walks behind me.
I see a tall ghost, carrying my bag,
as patient as only the dead can be,
but taking the first step is horror
even if rainwater hides my tears.

I’ve heard tales of travelers
who say prayers in every language of the world
and find prophesy in the eyes of children.
If you can hear my voice in the storm
then you can stitch your dreams into sails
and find your way home, where you belong.

I must be gone, but it is you who are lost.

I must leave, despite myself, I must be gone,
the hungry clouds and angry trees
force my path to narrow.

Choices made must still be paid,
but let me hold your eyes,
and my reflection upon them,
until I stand before you once more.

But I must be gone.

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