POETRY
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Suffering at the thought of the impending end -
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It Wasn't Just Me
by Vivian Imperiale
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It wasn’t just me
suffering at the thought of the impending end. Picturing your skeletal frame with sunken, pained eyes already looking at the distance. It wasn’t just me fearing that last time together. It was you, too. You anticipated what that would be like for you, for me. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t say, “goodbye.” So you kept me away for weeks as Death hovered at your bedside. You used what little energy you had to engineer a different scenario where you wouldn’t have to see me and see me see you. During what turned out to be our last phone call you didn’t end with “goodbye.” You simply said, “Call me tomorrow.” You were satisfied you had handled it well, protecting me. But I knew you. I knew every nuance of your voice. I heard what those words were really saying; they were saying, “goodbye.” The truth jolted me. I hung up the phone and sat there, at first feeling the chill of those words permeating my being and then finding a permanent place in my heart so I can retrieve the sound of your beloved voice and remember the calmness of your hidden farewell. |
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