The End of Love

for Steve Huntington

I’ve studied it—
the turning away of the eyes
at the unpleasantness of life,
wrinkles and blood, pain and thirst,
sound bytes to cover dishonesty with honey,
the denial of inevitable yearning for skin touching skin,
the making peace on the last days that come too soon,
where goodbye is too much
and see you soon is not enough
to stop the heart from breaking.

Once you told me,
in a moment of confession,
about a small truth that had come to you.
You apologized for being too forward
with the lack of God between us
by placing three small words
in my hands.

“We all die.” you said.

Just like that.
And then,
you shook your fist
at the heavens,
your voice trembling
at the boldness
of your anger.

“And another thing,” you said,
“I want this last year back.”

Just like that.

Just like that.

I watched you in that lesson
like my life depended on laughter and kindness,
on outrage and justice,
on black and white—
on unconditional love.

Just like that,
you opened the door
I am always afraid to walk through—
opened it and walked right toward
the end of love—
just like it was any other day,
like all the other days before this one
with a See ya. or Bye.
except this time you really meant it.

Now when I go back to my desk,
my pen in hand,
my heart filled with everything,
I can only write the endings
that leave us lonely, but filled
with grateful and abundant feasts of love.

It is here, at this table,
where I will meet you again,
share a story
about something that matters,
look each other in the eyes without regret,
hearts satisfied at knowing
the embrace of this friendship.