Paisano Poets: ‘Please Don’t Go.’

Bella Nieto, News Editor

My throat is dry, making every attempt at words painful. My hair sticks to my wet cheeks; I take slow gulps of air, looking for respite in the soft breeze. In the emptiness of the moment I whisper, “please.”


There are moments of stillness when I think I hear you rustling the covers, brewing coffee, you being in the places you belong, and there are moments when I don’t.


Sometimes I want to sink to the floor and sob, but in those moments I know you would watch as the tears burned my cheeks and not do a single thing. I think in those times, I would just want you to go.


I sometimes wonder if you feel the same way. Are there days when words are painful, when tears coat your cheeks, when breathing seems impossible, and the air lies still? Sometimes I wish it was you who said, with blurry eyes and a broken heart “please don’t go.”