I don’t do goodbyes

I don’t do goodbyes. When I see someone and we part ways, I’m tempted to call them later and continue like there was no pause. If I’m sending someone messages, “goodbye” means the letter has ended and it’s time for the post-script. When I say “goodnight”, it means “I know I’m supposed to not talk to you now, but I’m going to think about you for hours after this.” It’s tentative. Part of me will always hope that you can’t sleep, and maybe that’s because I know I could never sleep thinking this much about you. Maybe I want that unrest, that unshakeable sense of incompletion to tug at you as much as it does me. I don’t do goodbyes because I don’t know when I’ll see you again, when your last parting words will stop running through my head, when I’ll be done with you. I don’t do goodbyes because I can never find it in me to be done with you.”

— Cindersontheskyline

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