We never know it’s the end
when we’re in the moment of finale.

It’s supposed to be grand
like staircases and masterpieces,
but it never is.
It’s always ordinary,
It’s the opening act
in a world of standing ovations,
an afterthought among profundity,
yet I remember where I was
with each of our hellos
and each of our goodbyes.

In pj’s, warm air blasting
from the vents of my first car.

Lounging by my step-mom’s pool.

Sweaty hair and a dirty face
from miles of Greyhound busses.

Waving, tears, a cup of Sprite
and a stranger’s kind words.

I always seem to be wearing pajamas,
like I’m trying to find comfort
before the fall,
preemptive relief.

I remember the cubicle I sat in
when you broke my heart,
its padded brown walls
with tacked up doodles
and obligatory birthday cards.
It was the only place I had
with long distance,
the only place I could hear your voice.
I can still feel the hot asphalt
under my legs
as I cried in the alley out back
after you sliced me in half
with a ten minute conversation.

It’s supposed to be bigger
than pajamas and office walls.
It’s supposed to be a golden Eureka
buried in a forgotten claim,
a new life growing
among the smoldering ashes,
but instead
it’s soft,
tiptoeing on ballet feet.

It incinerates your world
with a spark
and suddenly you know
you will forever remember
every atom
of those ordinary moments.




2 thoughts on “Finale

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