There are no feet beneath me. My knees are knocking too much to render them any use.
I’m good, oddly. I haven’t had any bouts since the 19th. I get the odd feeling that that may have been my last true breaking. Or maybe that’s just hopefulness.
It’s always good to be hopeful I guess.
Anyway, I have talked of goodbyes before. But I have never confronted the finality of it, I think. Barring that, I’m addicted to it. I run at the slightest shadow and duck my head as if it’ll never pass. There’s always this train of thought running through my head: am I worth it? Are you worth it? How much will you hurt me? How much can I take before I say goodbye as silently as possible?
I try to make my goodbyes final. There’s only one I’ve really wanted to take back. And that one’s the one that evokes the most visceral reactions I’ve encountered. There’s nothing more final than that sort.
Then there are the transient goodbyes. I will see you in two months, two years, two infinities – somehow, I will see you.
I’ve realised, though, that attempting to balance the two is futile. It is not one of those things I can completely control. The only thing I can do is say it when it feels right and say hello again when I have to.
It’s the end of the year, so this post feels right: goodbye goodbye goodbye and one cautious hello.