Every time we say goodbye, I die a little. The first time we said goodbye was the morning after the first night we spent together. For some reason I did not want to leave you. I felt so comfortable just being there next to you. I almost cried when you suggested I stay since it was a long weekend. It wasn’t long enough for either of us.
We became such good friends or was it a friendship that began many lifetimes ago and we picked it up where we left off the last time. It seemed that way to me. There were many little goodbyes for this, that, and the other, and every time we said goodbye, I wondered why a little.
When your call to duty came and you were gone from me, I wondered why the gods above me, who must be in the know, think so little of me, they allowed you to go.
When your first leave came, when you were near, there was such an air of spring about it. I swore I could hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it. How I cherished each moment we were together, and I knew there was no love finer, but then you were gone again and I wondered how strange the change from major to minor – every time we said goodbye, I died a little.
When the telegram came, I know there would be one more goodbye and I would truly die a little. I was there when they brought you home. I stood straight and stoic as I crashed inside and cried to the gods above me, who must be in the know, who thought so little of me, they allowed you to go.
I stood alone on the green and threw a yellow rose which would soon be covered. And then I heard a Lark singing true and I knew there was no lover finer.
“It’s been so very wonderful, my friend.
“It’s been everything.
“Goodbye … for now.”