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It's not as if you need to be forgiven.
More that you need to be recognized as being part of this.
More than the cautionary bystander looking both ways before taking a step.
Not like there's a reason for your feelings.
You aren't the chicken.
You never crossed that road.
I miss you is too personal.
You weren't friends.
You were completely acquaintances.
And there's nothing wrong with that.
If you want to go that route.
((I did.))
Don't try to figure this out.
Don't take that leap of faith into the crowd.
((They're crying.))
You're not.
You never were, anyways.
I'm not going to subject myself to misery.
Try to let it roll off your shoulders, it's enigmatic, in part.
But then, there's a part of you where
It's more.
((So much more.))
This is important, but you ((I)) don't seem to understand.
Call it juvenille, if you want.
If it makes you feel better.
And it does, sort of.
((Excuses, excuses.))
You'd say it's a shame.
A terrible loss to society.
Or something equally circumvent to the issue.
I guess it's a matter of words.
((Isn't it always?))
Which is that you aren't sure what you feel.
Truly,
how do you say goodbye?
((Maybe you don't.))
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