Goodbye.

It’s a noun. According to Webster’s dictionary, it’s “a concluding remark or gesture at parting”.

So why does it suck so much? Why does the word goodbye pull the edges of my stomach up under my collar bone?

Why is it that this silly little noun has the capability of crumpling pieces of our souls into something sorrowful? Maybe it’s because goodbye isn’t ever really just a word, just a gesture.

Goodbye is a color. It’s the color the sky takes when the seasons fade into one another and the shade of the Jack and coke that he spilled on his favorite tie, the one you had to throw away instead of wash. It’s the hue of the breath that hangs on the corners and final echoes of that midnight fight.

Goodbye is a sound. It’s the empty sound that’s left around the room after the door slams. It’s the voice inside your head that asks if it’s too late to turn around when you already know there’s nothing behind you but open roads. It’s the crunch of gravel under tires and the low crackle of the last log on the fire.

Goodbye is the way that the salty air tastes on your last morning at the beach. It’s the vibrations of the guitar in your chest while your favorite songs fade into quiet.

Goodbyes are loud on the inside and dull noiselessness around you. It’s the feeling that you get when you watch the leaves go brown and the color of the rust on backyard swing set chains.

Maybe that’s why we hate the word so much.

The simple combination of those seven letters carries syllables we can’t ever truly express. It’s the vase you knocked off the table and can’t glue back together well enough to hold flowers. It’s the curling corners of your grandmother’s linoleum and vacant hallways with the dust outlines of picture frames lining once white walls.

Goodbye is the doubt in your mind and the twisting kind of pain in your stomach that pulls tears out.

Like most people, I hate saying goodbyes.

I hate the way the consonants and vowels shape my lips.

And sometimes, even when it means good things, even when it means positive change and the idea of moving forward and growing up, goodbye brings the child inside of me to the surface.

It forces me to wet my fingertips when I swipe them beneath my eyes.

I can feel the impending goodbyes of May curving in my direction, the knowledge that the days I’ve held onto for so long, the ones that used to feel like they’d never run out are coming to an uncertain close.

Will I hold onto the best pieces of the things I have to leave behind? Will I carry with me the people that I’ve fallen into all different kinds of love with and the memories that have seared themselves between my temples?

Sure I will.

Of course I will. But still, the idea of saying the word, of watching my world change in front of me and fade in my rearview mirror leaves me a bit more broken than I had been before.

Change is inevitable I suppose, goodbyes too, but even if my head sends the words to my mouth I may just end up with a “see you later”, goodbye’s more promising cousin.

So come the end of that first week in May, as I move away from the people and the experiences I’ve grown to love so much, don’t be surprised if I wave a hand and paint a smile.

It’ll be easier, and I’ll feel the brighter shades of all those almost beautiful colors.

Until then…I’ll keep an arsenal of see-you-laters in my pockets.