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I watched you from afar on that dark moon-lit night,
as you walked towards your future and left me behind.
I wanted to say so much to you before you left,
but I just couldn’t-
when I realized that you leaving now would be forever,
that I would never see you again-
I just couldn’t say goodbye.
We were only meant to know each-other for a short-time,
I know that now;
we were never meant to be anything else to each-other
than what we were;
we only knew one-another for a few months
and you may not even remember me a year from now,
but I just wanted to say how important to me
the days, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds with you were.

The day after I first saw you, I wrote a poem about you;
today, a week after I last saw you,
I cannot help myself from feeling regret
that at the moment you may have wanted to say goodbye to me,
I did not have the heart to say goodbye to you.
This poem is a goodbye from me, that I wanted to say on paper now,
which I couldn’t say to you in-person before-
this is the only way left for me to say to you,
in spirit and in words of any kind, at least-
that you made me a better person for having known you,
as I always felt that you would
from the instant that I saw you waiting at the door.

It doesn’t matter if you never read this,
or if you never learn that you had a profound effect on me;
what matters to me is what happens to you now, in the future,
at the moment that you realize that you have everything in your life
that you ever wanted.
I will be like a tear that rolls down your cheek and then gets wiped away-
you will forget me, as you should;
you will go on and touch the lives of countless people your entire life;
what matters to me is that you are happy.

I don’t want to be anything other than grateful, for the rest of my life,
because of the fact and the effect that you had on me,
that will forever stay with me;
I don’t want to do anything but smile and think of you every time I cry.
I wanted to write something for you,
so that I could read back to myself and remember you by;
I wanted to say the farewell to you, somehow, that I wanted to,
because I will always be sorry that I never said goodbye.

On a moonlit night, dressed all in black,
a man walks the streets of his town,
reflecting on the night that has passed
and also on the realization that he cannot give back.

To taxi drivers, and early-morning passers-by,
he is like a ghost in the street lights;
and as he takes a step closer towards home,
it occurs to him that no one really knows him-
people think they do, but he is not the person
that some people believe they are capturing in their sights.

We can never truly know how we are seen by others,
nor what our emanating first-impression is-
all that the man knows is that tonight
he got a glimpse into a mirror that showed him
how people perceive him,
and he wonders if it is a recurring after-image
that when he is described everyone sees.

Maybe it is because, these days,
his words speak for him without him even opening his mouth-
he has found that actions, especially his own,
have spoken silent volumes about who people are-
and that fact he too thinks long and hard about.

Perhaps he is a closed-book
that periodically and uncontrollably
sometimes has their cover opened
and their pages turned by the winds of the world,
and if it were not for a book-mark here and there
nothing about him would be known or unfurled.

We are all a mystery to one-another,
sometimes even to our friends, and our families;
sometimes we are even a mystery to ourselves-
just because we live our lives
does not mean that we know everything about our lives;
sometimes things lie out of reach on perceptions highest shelves.

Song-writers and story-tellers have been singing about and describing
men and women in black for some time now,
but until last night and this morning
this Man in Black never understood who they were talking about
and he never thought that a person like that
would be a person like me.
He wonders if he will always be a Man in Black;
however, that is not for him to know,
that is not for him to see.

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