you learn to burn farewells like photographs

because closure cannot be found in words

whispered over forsaken ground to deaf bones;

and when the shadows creep into your what ifs,

you find the nights are easier

when you give your demons names--

they will be kinder to you

than all the words you never said.

it is only when the lid closes

to never be lifted again

and suddenly you can’t remember their face,

that you learn there is no such thing as goodbyes,

only hellos;

and every time it rains

you tie your shoes a little tighter

and walk a little faster

because someday the ground will claim you, too.