still — the river. still — him

Maybe goodbye is easier than facing the pain and not knowing when it will end.

Maybe it is the novelty that makes it a little easier to tolerate.

Or maybe we are just addicted to the process of rebuilding.

Days after days. Weeks after weeks. Months after months.

You fall into the same pattern — uprooting yourself from the people, the community, the life you were just beginning to understand. You find yourself in a new city, talking to new people. Tired of small talk. But part of you glad that at least it won't last long.

At least this pain has an expiry date.

Years pass.

And still — nowhere feels like home more than that river next to your childhood home.

Still longing to talk to him one more time.

still — the river. still — him.