I can’t see you. Not like before, when I knew for sure,
you were right behind me, always there.
I didn’t even have to turn around to know.
Didn’t have to ask.
We were meant to be together, right?
I thought so, but that was a long time ago.
Then one day it dawned on me.
Well, maybe not all at once like a lightning strike,
but I knew, the truth, how you were growing smaller,
would disappear in the end.
I didn’t have to turn around to see it. No empirical evidence necessary.
I just knew. You know? The way we all know sooner or later.
I knew, because I realized time, finally understood how it works,
how it will shrink, shrivel, erase.
How many things can you name that always grow bigger over time?
I’m not talking about a child, or a tree.
Think geologic time.
Even the Big Island, Kīlauea still building it, and Lō‘ihi, just beginning,
they will one day be reduced to coral reefs beneath the waves.
So I know, even if a tiny tail wind whiff of you is still with me,
you’ll be gone finally, simply disappear.
Hey, I shouldn’t make you out the bad guy, though.
Really, it’ll be me leaving you behind. I’m the villain here,
a tongue unsaying you into a starry night and sleep.