Sitting at my kitchen table,
I think of you saying goodbye
for the first time on a morning
and how I rushed down the stairs of my small flat with you.
You stayed much too late this morning, not wanting to leave.
I drink the tea
there was no time to finish
and remember
watching you run out the front door, down the steps, and stop.
You had not forgotten me. It was just the first time.
I think about how you took slow steps back to me
and, in no rush, you kissed me goodbye
for the first time on a morning
and as you did, you kept your eyes
open for a moment just
at the beginning.
And so did I.
Because I knew, too.
