In Response to A Question I Was Never Asked

 

How do you know when it is time to leave? 

What a pathetic question I’ve been forced to answer for myself 

With the knowledge that I am no longer 

Part of something 

I worked so hard to build

. 

But what is the point of pulling something together 

If it is not strong enough to stay connected

When I am gone?

. 

And it hurts 

It hurts when I bring myself back to the flowers I helped plant and 

Grow and have now pressed between books teaching me 

How to be something I never felt naturally 

But I knew I could change lives if I could become it 

For just one year

.

And I learned how to preserve bouquets in between books 

because the colors were so bittersweet and 

Despite my pretending I was never good at letting 

go

And the flowers kept their color so long as I was careful 

Still only a mere imitation of what was once fresh and living

. 

But that place is no longer meant for me

And it hurts to know that abandon and move on

Can be synonyms to different people 

.

Every year I found it strange how a place could go on 

Without the foundation it was built upon

.

And now I see the tradition built in its walls and

I’ve learned to love what is temporary 

.

There’s a different kind of tragic beauty to that which you know 

Was never meant to last

.

But I had forgotten the feeling 

Created from the absence 

.

Of the people you looked up to 

.

.

And I’m sorry, for in all my experience,

 I never learned how to fill up that space.