As Close As I Came

I spent the better part of a drive trying to say what love is and still can’t.

You laughed when you came; I cried. Endings are easier for you, I thought, and boarded the plane. If love is not wanting to let go (that’s as close as I came), why do I feel it more when you’re gone?

On that street corner in new-day dark, I white-knuckled my suitcase handle while a homeless man rifled through trash and you were still close by in a yellow room upstairs.

We’re all desperate, I suppose. Seeking. Sorting what we want to keep.

Photo Credit: Mário Fernandes