If you’re going to leave,
just leave.
Don’t make a sound.
I don’t want to hear the perfectly polished
hardwood floor creek
in response to your every step
away from me.
It reminds me of the day we bought this apartment,
the glimmer in your eyes,
how you said our bookshelves would fit perfectly
against the tired red brick wall.
Don’t say a word.
Too much had already been said.
With every echoing hymn of your rustic voice,
I feel it pull me closer towards you
and I’m back once again to base one.
Don’t kiss me goodbye.
The thought of it being our last
makes me realize how I cannot touch
anyone else’s lips.
If you’re going to leave,
don’t leave anything behind.
Take it all.
Take the notes, the postcards, the shreds of my heart,
and the promise of eternal summers
because when all of this is over,
all I’ll ever get from this tug of war
is never-ending winter in my heart.
And when you finally leave,
just leave.
Don’t tell me you’re sorry.
I already know you are.
We both are.
—
Erika is a Mass Communication student of the Ateneo de Davao University. Born in Cotabato City, raised in Bukidnon. Currently an online writer for VCPost.