You go

The chains with which I tried to tie you to me weren’t enough, you broke them with the will of the one who wants to be free, leaving me behind with that heap of broken reasons I thought would stop you from going.
I’m selfish, yes, I am, because even when I crave to believe that you will be happier going towards your dreams, to your personal mission in this weird, incomprehensible life, I can’t help but regret they moving you away from me.
I want your happiness, as long as I can help you reaching it.
You tell me that this it’s not a goodbye, just a see you later. And I give you the twisted smile I can only manage to hint, trying to believe you for my own sake, so many endings in a not so long life left me the impression that that’s the end, after all, an end, an ending story that would never be able to be the same when resuming, if so.
I try to be strong, insensitive, I keep cheering you up in the preparations of your departure while my heart turns into an oh so heavy stone that sank me more and more in that sea of retained tears in which I try not to drown. Every hitch turns into a disappointment to you, into a hope that dares to born in me.
It’s hard to find the middle point, sometimes I reach it and it slips away again between my fingers, maybe my greed the one that make it run to hearts more comprehensive than mine.
You go, I stay. You, the new, me, the old and safe thing, two extremes condemned to constantly move apart for not destroying one another. They speak truly when they say that farewells are always worse for the one who stays, the one who goes does it with a luggage full of dreams, of lazy promises about future, of expectation before the new world to meet, the new life that maybe could be found. The one who stays it’s always too much scared as to pack and leave the house forever, and the fear accompanies some kind of resentment, the syndrome of the abandoned who is not able to abandon, and the luggage always weights too much, so many neatly folded memories, the crave to grasp something tangible weighting plumber-like in the soul, preventing any chance to take a single more step.
We cry when someone leaves, when someone dies, when they get lost of our way. But we don’t cry because we miss that someone, quite the contrary, it’s all about the feeling of being left alone, of the world spinning without us being able to stop it, the time walking it’s endless road and nothing we can do to stop it.That’s it, you’ve gone and I stay, talking with the ghost of your presence, with the emptiness of your absence, recalling all the things we shared, and feeding the hope that one day, maybe so soon, we could share something more. It’s the only thing that makes me smile while I cry staring at the loneliness that awaits to me in the shape of your empty room.