Departure

It is early still, in the morning rain
As my pending departure begins,
Mocking all that "seemed to be"
And that "might have" and "could have been."
For all our subtle differences,
We come, now, down to this,
The brush of a hand, and a whisper
And not waking you for a last kiss.
Dawn filters sullenly thru the curtains
As I pack my bag to go,
Playing out on the silver screen.
Like an old-time silent picture show.
Noiselessly, I steal out of the room,
I hear you murmur on the other side of the wall,
And the floor creaks vacantly under my foot
As I exit down the hall.
I guess I meant to leave you
Without ever saying goodbye,
And I wonder if I left that way because
I was afraid you would, or you wouldn’t, cry.

*de - april 2002