When You Leave
I'm a lion, you said.
I laughed and replied, you're more like a dande-lion.
A light push of fresh summer air disentangles said plant, bringing a splash of bright colour to the not-so-greener side. Its fragile and stubborn characteristics are only a few of the many similarities between you and a dandelion. Despite your initial hesitation, I know you slowly grew fondness for the nickname.
As you leave for a new city, I want to remind you that you are irreplaceable. That your genuine, child-like love for those around you, the one you offered to me, is most definitely irreplaceable. It troubles me to know that I cannot be selfish today, the way you always allow me to be. I want to grab you by your arm and keep you here, but I don't, because I want your dreams to come true even more than I want you to stay.
You are the first goodbye I have said in a while. In the literal sense, it was always me who packed the bags and left, sometimes by choice others by chance. Now I know what my friend meant when she quoted an overused saying, "like a hole in the heart." She spoke of this constant absence in her everyday routine, as she commuted to school and back only to do so again alone the next day. I know I will be okay and that you are just one of the many people I have and will meet during my university career, but your absence will speak loudly every time I need to go buy a bag of rice or forget how to make chili or when my queen size bed is just too damn big for a small girl like me.
As you leave for a new city, I want to remind you that my life would not be the same without you. That I was enchanted to meet you.