I miss you, I love you, I’ll see you again.

Light pooled beneath the lamp on broken pavement. She crushed her tears with the heel of her hand. “I’ll miss you,” she laughed through the sheen in her eyes. I simply stood.

“I’ll miss you, I love you, I’ll see you again.”

I remember tears at the beginning. I remember stumbling out, crying out to unresponsive stars, to the hand behind them. I pasted on a smile as I helped friends pack up their lives. I smiled at their retreating backs after each reunion, pretending two years are a week, pretending that neither of us will change, knowing that we will reconnect. I squirmed uncomfortably as those around me used my shirtsleeves as tissues, sobbing at the promise of goodbye. I laughed at declarations that they couldn’t do without me, really. I hugged them all, picked up my luggage, and didn’t look back.

I’ll miss you. I love you. I’ll see you again. 

The distant mountains wreathe themselves in smoke. I lean on my balcony rail in the chill air, examining my center. Are my tears locked away, or dried up? Can I be homesick anymore? Is it possible to be too adaptable, too strong?

Or maybe I am simply weak.

I miss you. I love you. I’ll see you again.