I have a thing with partings:
Finding therein a something akin
To a death desperately present;
Like an earthquake easily burying 
The life I had before, a life 
Lost and never returning;
Memories fading
As the self slowly shatters,
Memories within 
Unshared and unequivocally 
Pointing towards an end;
As the thread of hope
Weaved from the strings 
Of dreams, from the last
Rays of sunshine mirrored 
In the eyes of the child
Left behind.
I have a thing with partings,
Being left behind,
The others going on 
As the self withers -/: