All Day Long, Love

He hears himself saying good-bye over and over again, and suddenly realizes that the woman he keeps saying good-bye to is a different woman every time; realizes that he’s never the same person saying good-bye. Later on, when he thinks about it again, he realizes that you can say good-bye all you want but no one ever really goes away and that, ultimately, it’s only hello that matters.

He remembers the first time they met, remembers the bar’s darkness, the coin flip she apparently lost just before she approached him, hunched over his Rolling Rock and a shot of Cuervo, and asked him, “Why so glum, chum?”  This, he knew immediately, was the first woman he’d ever met he was sure he’d never want to say good-bye to.

Now, decades later, still feeling the same warmth, he kisses her good-night at night, kisses her good-morning in the morning, and all day long contemplates the impossibility of good-bye.

4 thoughts on “All Day Long, Love

  1. damn. that is so good. that’s the sort of thing i absorb like a sponge soaking up water. the feeling behind it, the low key murmur of it, the careful intensity, damn but this is good.

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