a perfect farewell

the perfect goodbye is one never spoken. one that never becomes real. let's face it: there are few moments in our lives as awkward as a farewell. do not include death situations here, please - there is no possible goodbye for someone who is crossing the boundaries of our futile little world. but when someone is leaving, catching a train for the other side of the country, or the world - what are we supposed to say? or when we are the ones leaving, what do we say to those we leave behind as we venture into the unknown? the perfect farewell is a silent one, for in such a moment nothing is supposed to be said. or done, for that matter. a kiss, a handshake, a hug? no. a stare, only, a last stare into everyone's eyes is enough. a quiet acknowledgement that regardless of the distance, of the time, nothing will ever changed, and we who are leaving will always love those who stay behind. or we, who are staying behind, will always grant the adventurers a safe haven shall they fall along their way.

if i were to leave, to depart from here, i would want no one saying goodbye, waving at me from the terminal's glass gates. i would want no one there, for that matter. i've mused about that several times, whenever i took a plane to somewhere else - what if one day i get here again, and got into that plane again, only without a return ticket? all the times i've returned, i felt sad somehow, sad for never having anyone waiting for me, welcoming me back - and that has shown me that, in a way, there is little of me in this strange land i call home. but if i'm ever meant to leave without no planned return, i will want no one around me. no farewell. no goodbye. no empty words. i just want to leave the terminal and enjoy my lask cigarrette here, and take a long, deep breath before i board and leave. that would be my perfect farewell.