Already Leaving

ALREADY LEAVING

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I’m seeing a dead man alive.

He’s clearer now
than he ever was when he had a pulse.

When he was alive
he was already gone.
Already late.
Already choosing something else.
Silence. Distance. Himself.

He didn’t die and leave.
He practiced leaving first.

So death didn’t steal him from me.
Death handed him back,
fully formed,
all at once.
No more excuses.
No more maybe.

Now he shows up everywhere.
When I close my eyes.
In rooms he never stood in.
In my hands,
doing things I had to learn alone.

I carry the weight of a relationship
that only became real
after it ended.

That’s the cruelty of it.
The grief isn’t for who he was.
It’s for the proof.

Proof that he could have been here and his absence was a choice.
Proof that time doesn’t forgive.

I don’t cry because I miss him.
I cry because I see him clearly
and clarity hurts more than hope ever did.

He’s alive now
because there’s nothing left to wait for.

Just the truth
standing still
finally honest.

And I stand with it.
Not to make peace.
Not to absolve.

Just to say
I see you now.
And I kept going anyway.