Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the feel of it.
The soft caress of a lover’s embrace by a warm body next to mine.
Now, hard muscles turned to stone.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the sound of it.
A harmonious melody of a chorus of angels floating in the air.
Now, a cacophony of gnawing little teeth.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the smell of it.
Odors become memories burned in the mind, like the cologne I bought last Christmas.
Now, the metallic sickly sweet stench of blood.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the taste of it.
The taste of red wine with wild cherries, warm peaches and a hint of passionfruit.
Now, the cold, succulent, saltiness of raw meat.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the sight of it.
Pink cheeks flush a deeper red when crystal blue eyes catch mine.
Now, a blackened mass of exposed bone and rotting flesh.

Saying goodbye is always hard.
I don’t like the finality of it.
I should see, hear, smell, feel, and taste my love, whenever I want.
No. I’ll never say goodbye.