“Goodbye. I’ll see you later.”

I never cry at the moment of departure, and I always manage to put on a brave face. But saying goodbye always stings. It’s like a part of me, no matter how small, is ripped from my heart. What’s left is a wound, albeit small and even negligible at times, that I know will eventually become just a scar.

Whenever I say goodbye, I’m smiling. And I always wish the person leaving the best. I always manage to utter the words, “Have a good life. I wish you well. See you later.”

But all I’m yearning to say is…Don’t say goodbye. Stay. Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.

I know the wound will eventually heal. But that knowledge doesn’t help much. Not at the moment of goodbye, anyway.

I’ve said a few goodbyes in the last couple of years. I said goodbye again on Friday. On August 9, I will say goodbye again.

I’m tough. I don’t break. The past farewells have seen to that. They have helped to mold who I am now: a woman who’s strong and beautiful and free.

I’m still wishing, though, that this time, goodbye will not be the end. Maybe this time, goodbye will be followed with a “Hello again.” After all, according to one of the messages of Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, when you want something bad enough, all of the universe will conspire to give it to you.

I’m banking on your words, Mr. Coelho.