On being a nomad part 2

I nip my teeth into the flesh of the peach,

Listening while you tell me about how you are going.

I usually leave, but, as usual

I hurry you along and 

The sweet and sticky juice of the fruit makes its way down my chin

And I nod

And you hug me, you tear up, I laugh you off and let go.

You hold on.

"It is time," and I remember I've said goodbye to you before.

And something in this life I've chosen or the people I've chosen to fill it with, I am always,

Always saying goodbye.