Goodbye

When I say goodbye, I say goodbye.
I don't write letters, send photos
or do postcards.
I do not pick up the phone.
When I say goodbye, I remember.
I play endless replays in my mind.
When I say goodbye,
I forget names and places —
but not the scent of your neck,
the smell of your kitchen.
When I say goodbye, I do it the way
a drop of water says goodbye to the ocean
and rise to be one with the sky.