The Night He Left

His retreating back, always the last thing I see.

Was it me?

I remember it clearly, that is the problem: the night he walked out the door.

The most horrific scene, I wish I had never witnessed before.

It for some reason takes place at night. As if the darkness outside could hide the events taking place.

It can’t. And they cannot stay.

One instant lasts forever – history repeats itself, much too often.

They’ll never know, will they?

The damage they do is unbeknownst to them.

What glorious ignorance.

This little heart is left to carry it, day in and day out.

An undeserved wound, a terrifying doubt.

Was it me?

Too little, much too little.

Too heavy, much too heavy.

The wake they leave is a difficult one. I mourn deeply someone who never died.

If they had they would not have chosen to leave.

But they did, they do.

Is it me?

His retreating back is always the last thing I see.

One thought on “The Night He Left

  1. Pingback: Monday Five: Okay-ness & other things I’m excited about this week | Miranda Kate

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