I’ll Be Seeing You

At the end of a long week,
my soul goes looking,
not for home exactly,
but for yours.

When your words reach my ears
the fog begins to clear,
My mind opens.
My heart follows.

Some nights,
you press a thumb
against a scar
I'd forgotten was there.

Other nights,
a cracked smile,
a phrase folded into my pocket
for the journey home.

But always,
you leave me something real,
something my bones feel.

When we're together,
the weight of the world
slips off my shoulders.

I leave lighter
than I arrived.

I borrow courage
from your cadence
until it sounds
like my own.

I never knew
your thunder
could uncork
my bottled lightning.

Or that
in a room full of strangers,
I could finally
find myself.

Then comes
the final round of applause—
that bittersweet note
that beauty, too,
must pause.

Chairs scrape the floor.
Hugs refuse to end
at the door.

Goodbyes soften into,
I’ll be seeing you.

Four words promising return,
not an ending
but a thread
stretching forward
through the days between us.

Hope hums in my head.

I walk home wrapped in our words,
a quilt stitched from voices,
warming the quiet,
tucking me gently into dreams.

I’ll be seeing you.

Inspired by feedback from the Poetry & Prose Network community.

A tribute to the connections that remain after the final applause—the friendships, encouragement, and shared moments that turn a room of writers into a community.

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