A Litany Before Goodbye

I want to say something profound.

How about
“we’re only ever certain of uncertainties”?
Or would that be too deep,
hitting too close to home?

I’d like to say
how much death fascinates me –
its inevitability,
the certainty that we’ll all end up that way.

Of course, you’ll say that’s too morbid,
too melancholy,
As if relegating it to the back of our mind
will keep it at bay.

“We’ll all die anyway,” I’ll say with nonchalance.
And you’d quip, “Yes, but we don’t have to die today.”

I’d like to tell you I’m not afraid of death,

Only the transition
from here to there.
Will it hurt? Will my body cling to the last vestiges of life?
Will I fight for my last breath, or will I give in easily?

I don’t want to fight for anything, you see.
And yet I always have to fight to make you stay,
even when you already have one foot out of the door.

That’s supposed to be me,
the first to run away.
Now the tables have turned.
Now I’m the one who wants more.

If you ask me, that scares me more than death.

At least with death,
there’s certainty – a way out.
With you,
there’s only ambiguity – always in doubt.

I want to say something profound.
Instead, I’ll say something absolute and sure:

I don’t want to be the one who loves more,
not anymore.

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