It hurts when someone leaves.

One second they're here, then they're...

Not.

It takes a second to take it.

Some people start to break down by you.

But you can't.

Not because you're heartless.

Just you don't know what to think.

They yell at you

Why the hell aren't you sad?

Why aren't you crying?

Do you even care?

Do you?

Do you care that they're dead?

Do you not have a heart?

Did you...

Did you not love them enough?

It's hard.

Then, months later,

Months upon months later,

You notice.

They're actually gone.

You'll never see that person again.

Sure, they'll say,

Oh, doesn't that person look like him?

That painting, though! It looks so much like her!

Maybe they don't talk about that.

They want to seem smart and strong.

Maybe the littler ones want to be like you.

They want to be strong like you.

They want to not show much emotion and move on like you.

But you're not strong.

You're showing emotion in other ways.

You're not moving on anytime soon.

It looks like you have,

But you haven't.

You have a sudden rush of everything.

They're gone.

They're not coming back.

You won't see them again.

Soon, you forget things.

Their face.

Their voice.

That vacation.

That moment with them.

The conversation

And the encouragement they gave you.

You forgot how they sat on the couch

You forget their laugh

You forget their art.

"That statue was made by my great-gramma!"

"My grandpa went there!"

"My friend wrote that!"

You hide it, not showing that they're dead.

Just a quick moment to mention them.

Not enough to break down,

Just to remember what you can.

Then it comes.

What was the last thing you said to them?

What was the last thing they said to you?

"See you soon!"

"Love you!"

"Bye, Mike!"

Maybe you didn't feel well.

You were angry at something they said.

Or did.

You just put your jacket on

And stomped out.

You pretended that you didn't notice them

As they walked down the street.

After a bit, you panic.

"Where is that sculpture Toddy made?"

"Isn't that picture of Grammy?"

"Where is that comment she wrote?"

"Where's that picture you took of us?"

Then concern.

"Why was she buried so far away?"

"Can we see her house again?"

"I can't delete that, she replied to it!"

"Don't touch that! That was his!"

"Can I borrow that for a bit?"

Look around you.

That picture of Maggie.

That teddy made out of Bob's shirt.

That figurine by Toddy.

That necklace from Grammy.

That flag Granddaddy owned.

That drawing by Erin.

Anger comes.

Why did he delete it?

Why can't you find her art?

Why can't you get that birdnest she found?

Why can't they play with her dog toy?

Why can't you do anything?

Or some oblivious comment.

"Isn't that your gramma's?"

"Wait, is that the school he went to?"

"Is that her book?"

"Aren't those minis from his cigar boxes?"

"She made those cards, right?"

It's not goodbye, just see you later.

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