so much remains

On the last day, you may find it hard to remember

most things. You consider the laughter but

laughter, sadly, is common, too random,

anyone else's. You try to think of their

hands, however, hands

are not as sacred as they once were; even,

admittedly, hers, resting on his bare shoulder.

Faces would be another popular theme, but faces change with

time, no matter how hard we who are left behind try to tell ourselves

that they have not. What I think I remember

are some moments --- her sitting beside me while

riding to town, or a morning when the sunlight formed an

almost-circle around his head, a likely halo. And what

about that day when everyone was laughing about

a dastradly private joke and they were both looking

at me, as if I were responsible for the joke, among

many other laughable things. It's sadness in a box,

the birthday boys chant. Our primary skill is

saying goodbye. No one leaves but everyone seldom returns.

They know this because they are older now -- men with

ghosts for companions, their bare backs toughened by all their

lost afternoons. But on this last day, they brace

themselves for new goodbyes. Au Revoir. Sayonara.

Paalam. However you say it, it remains the same. However you

remember it, so much remains.