If I could write you a goodbye:

it would be that time we were at your new house
the one you bought by yourself
the one they said you wouldn’t be able to afford after your divorce and with being self-employed and all
the one where I found and held my first Monarch when I was leaving
before I knew what they would mean to me

it would be the long desert drive to Las Vegas and back
just to make sure you were alright
then doing it again
in our uncle’s truck this time
just to find that bastard changed the locks
so we called a locksmith
and he let us in, no questions
packed up what was left of your things and left that fucker behind
(sometimes I get angry that he’s still alive and you’re not)

if I could write you a goodbye
it would be boysenberries in summer
slipping in the mountain creek
all those times we went hiking
it would be us as kids in Long Beach
how you were jealous of my hair and
I was jealous of your skin

it would be every goodbye we ever had
but the one I had to give