Departure

The bar was loud, already, but the back room quiet, as we tried to dissect the last few months and our places in them. This bar where at the table in the corner I said the last kind words to a lover who did not deserve them. This bar where at the short end near the door my starry eyes renewed vows to a lover I thought I'd never have to lose. I washed the streets with your name and dared to believe I wouldn't regret it. She writes to say the city has broken her, but you don't understand what she means. I still walk in to this bar with my back straight, these streets still carry me home.

What's to regret about that?