Too Late
You have a penchant for unrefined goodbyes,
hurried and sharp,
as if cutting the cord could silence
what still lingers.
You resist,
but you will remember me…
with each fallen leaf,
each brittle crack beneath your feet.
You will see me in the dying light,
in the shadows that stretch too long,
and you will wish you had held on tighter.
I shall have rooted
in some other place,
some other time,
where the earth does not tremble
beneath footsteps that leave.
And you,
you will call my name in the dark,
but it will not reach me.
You will search for me in empty rooms,
in the hum of rain
against your window,
in the hollow ache that grows
when night comes too soon.
But by then,
I will be gone,
not lost,
but somewhere you cannot follow.
And you will miss me,
need me,
want me,
but by then
it will be
too late.
