Ryan's Journal

Fat rain drops sporadically pelt us as our small group stands clustered outside the subway entrance, street lamps here and there casting their faint glow into the deep of night. Umbrellas open and close, feet shuffle under and out of shelter while the weather tries to make up its mind and we try to play as if all is normal. But it isn't. Small talk echoes about a hollow while we dance around what screams in our faces: one of us is leaving for good.

We nervously speak of nothing, laugh at everything, and wonder inside at the way life brings in and then takes away. Fuzzy memories of good times, empty regrets of things not shared and never to be shared, and a long hug farewell.

Saying goodbye is one of those rare things that gets harder the more you do it. At least for some, for this one, this end is not the end, and there never will be an end.

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