No truly great

love affair ends with a simple
but eloquent letter.
It doesn't wind down over
a quiet dinner or end in an
explosion of angry, mutually
immolating passion.
It ends at someone's bedside,
with the other one looking on
in anguished helplessness,
finding whatever solace they
can
in the calm harbors of
memory
or the idealized
hopes of eternity.
Or it ends in the
news that leaves
someone shell-shocked,
feeling as if they
themselves had been
torn out of the book
of life, and contemplating
the Grand Canyon of
aloneness
that has suddenly opened up
at their feet.
And however hard the
parting is,
the true lovers
wouldn't have it any
other way.
They know how the story
of their intertwined love
must end.
But the quiet exaltation
they have found in the
celebration of their lives
together
makes them willing
to hold each other's
hands
until one of them
can no longer
respond,
at least in this world.