**Poem-a-day project poem #8**
In the car
one day in middle school
I asked my mom
if anyone really stays
Best Friends Forever.
She said, “not usually.”
and I started to cry.
See, I’ve
never really been
very good at goodbyes.
I see them coming from a mile off
and brace myself for impact.
As if, by bracing,
I might avoid
the sudden sense of lack
that comes with leaving.
There is one coming
for me now.
I feel it in how
each moment carries
a little preemptive nostalgia.
Remember this, I think.
Hold on to here.
Each person, place,
familiar minor habit
suddenly seems dearer
to me now.
The leaving will come.
And I will go.
It will be good and time
and all okay.
But know, whatever else,
that my goodbyes
are always under protest.
If I could keep
every hello in life
I might could give up
all the rest.
I might could is my new favorite construction
I want to claim Southernism but I might could have just made it up.
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