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.