I say goodbye,
with tears dripping from my fingertips,
I wave,
one last attempt to reconcile,
the turbulent emotions,
inside my soul.
The edges of my heart,
rough and tender,
you don't see me wave,
your back is turned.
I stare at my hands,
memories flashing,
I catch them and hold them,
for they are dear.
Times when your smiles were real,
and you were more,
than a shell.
Your vacant eyes stare at me,
distant,
as if youir vision includes,
a portion of the sky.
The only words to describe this pain,
are trite cliche's,
that are used in pre teen angst,
but every word is genuine.
As if I said them for the first time,
by me,
and only by me.
Your sky eys,
wooden with past sorrow,
vacnt and sad,
stare past me,
and I say goodbye.

Note: The Native Americans have a term for 
children who have an intimate knowledge 
of sorrow called sky eyes. It has nothing to 
do with the color.