The last hug

What’s in the last hug that eyes well up and your forearms flex so much, tightening over their shoulders that you don’t want that embrace to end?

Is it in the last hug, hurriedly made, for a lifetime, on a railway platform or by a waiting auto that you embrace all that has ever been, packed in a single memory unit?

Or what is it with the last hug so mandatorily made that you forgive and apologize and apologize and forgive all your mortal errors made?

What is it with the last hug that it suddenly occurs that you won’t rest your head on their lap while pushing space for your bum on a crowded bed?

Few things won’t happen ahead in time with few people, even if they be around, is it in the last hug that encapsulates it all that pretty place posed for, provided for?

Is it with the last hug perhaps, even through a season of teary farewell that you seal your love?

What is it in the last hug and the trickling tear, the promise of meeting you?

Is it with the last hug that you for one last time push a part of yourself into them; grab a part of them to keep – a prized souvenir?

Or has it been, whatever that has been for us to be such, such tight and teary in our last hug or is it that last hug that we live whatever we’ve been, making us whatever we’d be?