**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.