It’s goodbye in Latin, you invalids. (Kidding, you’re not all terrible.)
Figured I’d take the rust out slow on an easy ride. Saying ciao, adios, later days, and all that are the fucking worst. We say it everyday without fail, but with variable meanings depending on the who. I’m talking about the kinds of people you are forced to bid adieu to.
The people you need in your life. The ones that electrocute your own self-worth into being. (The way their eyes flash, or their lips curl, and every other cliche we’ve had beaten into us by shitty romantic comedies. )
When you’re forced to say goodbye to them, something inside you wilts because that great moment is over and you won’t have it back…until next time. But for some, next time never comes. There’s no airport pick up or car door slam, only silence.
And it’s in those moments that we have a choice. Grief or gratitude.
I’ve done both. I’ve drank myself to a stupor, and figured happiness only existed in my rearview. And on the other end I’ve thanked the big kemosabe upstairs for all the little moments I was able to relish in.
But it’s your call, and time is experience.
Just don’t let it kill you.