farewell 2025

the road ahead

There are crossings the world forbids—
not out of cruelty, but because
wires, once tangled, burn the circuit.
So, some groups part ways,
and the ledger of timing and reason
closes with a sigh.

The sentimentalist in me
rails against the verdict,
wants to circle back,
to test the lock on the old gate,
to see if the latch still lifts.

But the realist—
that gravel‑voiced companion—
reminds me:
to go back is to fracture the lesson,
to look back is to stall the walk.

And yet absence does not vanish.
It grows tributaries:
a hollow in the chest
that fills with rainwater,
a chair at the table
that teaches you how to sit straighter,
a silence that learns your name
and answers when you call.

So absence becomes companionly,
not by choice, but by persistence—
a shadow that keeps pace,
a hand you cannot hold
but still feel brushing your sleeve.

Paths may recross, or they may not.
The wiser course is forward,
feet steady on the gravel,
eyes open to the next bend.
But even as I walk on,
I carry the ache like a lantern—
not to light the way back,
but to see more clearly
the road ahead.