after tom kitt and brian yorkey
goodbyes are not so easy. how they ache
like muscles left unused or bones that creak
in peril, warning that they yet may break.
it is no accident, but yet a freak
of physiology: the soul's a void
that all our mortal frame could not contain
the sentiment that sweetens 'til it cloys,
the beauties that would revel in the pain
we cannot e'er avoid. goodbyes are hard
and burying our love with naught but words
and bitterness that doesn't truly ward
against us loving still, again. I heard
that love is bought with loss: and so we pay
we live to say goodbye, again, each day.
the price of love