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This Isn’t Goodbye.

The thunderous whistle bellows, Splintering disregard into piercing awareness.
Bitter wind licks at my brow, Washing strands of hair across my face in quiet ripples.
You turn to me and smile.
Not of happiness or contentment. Not of a teasing manner.
A melancholy smile. A smile of remembrance.
Your smile fades slowly as you grasp my hands between yours.
Your eyes say it all. You don’t have to say it.
You glance down at our clenched hands and whisper softly,
“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t goodbye.”

Distractions bustle about us. In the steam, the cars, the people.
The quickened rhythm of haste matches the pounding of our hearts.
And yet, Only you are before me. Your presence an extension of mine.
Your eyes are liquid with dithering resolve.
Returning your gaze sends pangs of yearning to my very core.
Your eyes say it all. You don’t have to say it.
The train utters a final, foreboding wail, Tearing asunder our being.
Your embrace lingers long after you relinquish apprehension, vanishing into haze.
“This isn’t goodbye. This isn’t goodbye.”

About chroniclestudios

I live. I breath. I write. It's not my first of passions, but it certainly fuels my largest passions: God and Art. Being a 20-something photographer from Nashville, TN; it's easy to get used to your environment, living in a generalized world. But I prefer to pour a strong cup of coffee and relentlessly study each nuance life brings. Then I am more equipped to show it to you.

2 responses to “This Isn’t Goodbye.

  1. J Sullivan ⋅

    Start cataloging this stuff. Organizing it later is a _ity_ _! Love your esoteric sensibilities. Have you read any e. e. cummings?

  2. I’ve been thinking about archiving a lot lately. I know I won’t have this blog forever, and the thought of losing it all definitely makes me blanch. Thanks for reading, Dad! I like abstract writing the most of any. Don’t think I’ve read much of E.E. Cummings’ work, but I recognize the name.

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