I thought I’d have more time

I Thought I’d Have More Time

I thought I had more time. 
I thought there’d be another day,
another ride,
another reason to stay,
another afternoon
where I’d walk through that gate
and find you waiting
like you’d always been.

I thought goodbye
was something that could wait.
Why say it now
when tomorrow
was already on its way?

There would be another brushing,
another treat,
another time
I’d hear your footsteps
before our eyes could meet.

I didn’t know
I was making memories
while thinking
I was only making time.

I still remember
the little things.
The sound of your footsteps,
the way you’d look my way,
the little things you used to do
that somehow still remain today.

Funny how the smallest things
become the hardest to forget.
Things I never thought I’d miss
are things I haven’t replaced yet.

I wish I had known.
Not so I could’ve been afraid.
Not so every second
would feel borrowed or delayed.

I just would’ve stayed longer.
I would’ve brushed your mane
until the sun sank low,
hugged you a little tighter,
and been in no hurry to go.

I would’ve told you thank you
for every ordinary day,
for every mile beneath my feet,
for every time you carried me away.

Away from everything.
Away from the noise.
To a place where I could breathe
without needing a voice.

I would’ve told you
how much you meant to me.
But I thought there’d be time.
And that’s the cruelest part,
I think.

You don’t realize
you’re saying goodbye
when you’re still saying,
“See you next time.”

Two years have passed,
and somehow it still feels
like yesterday.
I still expect to see you.
Still catch myself looking
when I walk through the barn,
as if grief might forget
the place you used to stand.

But the stall is different.
The days moved on.
The world kept turning
after you were gone.

And I hate that it did.
Because how can everything
look so much the same
when one of the most important parts
will never answer to their name?

I never got to say goodbye.
So I’m saying it now.
Two years late,
with words I should’ve said
before they turned into weight.

Thank you
for every moment
I didn’t know I’d miss.

Thank you
for every memory
I didn’t know was a gift.

Thank you
for being part of my life,
even if your part was shorter
than I ever thought it’d be.

And I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I thought
there would always be tomorrow.
I thought I had more time.
And if I could have
just one more day,
I wouldn’t waste it
trying to find the perfect words to say.

I’d just stay.
I’d hug you.
I’d tell you I loved you.
And this time,
when I walked away,
I wouldn’t assume
you’d be waiting for me
the next day.

Author Note: This was inspired by one of my late childhood horses passing.. I had 3 that died same time, but one in particular has really bothered me later. So in memory of my pretty lady Sammy, I wrote this.