When fireworks bombed the New Year’s sky,
you clenched your imaginary weapons
instead of shielding your ears.
I held you as color returned to your face,
but we both knew,
goodbye would come for us someday.

This city never meant for you to stay.

On your final evening
with sparkling buildings
and cars screaming,
I plant the final kiss
and breathe in your sunscreened skin.
I run my fingers slowly once more,
through hair the sea made so coarse.
I trace your shoulders with my fingertips,
and memorize scars made from surfboard slips.

I send you off with my silent wish:

Please find lullabies in the rustling trees
solace in the gentle breeze,
restful sleep without haunted dreams
in mountain peaks forever green.

I hope this retreat will grant you peace.