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How to Say Goodbye to Someone You Don’t Want to Leave
Over three years ago， I stayed with a friend in a new city， and his friends all came over and made 1）steak tartare and fries for a welcome dinner. They became my first new friends. Since， I had never seen them all together in the same place， for 2）constraints of time or distance or 3）scheduling. Last night， we were all together again—every last one of us—and made steak tartare and fries as a goodbye dinner. It was the kind of 4）farewell where you don’t even really need to say anything， because part of you knows that it will happen again， it’s just a question of when.
“You’re a really good person，”I told a friend in the hallway of the 5）house party， “and I’m really glad that I got to know you.”
It was the last one we’d have just like that， with all of us in the same place and the same level of freedom and the same open future ahead of us. I would come back some day， yes， but nothing would be quite the same. And that’s a good thing. It’s always 6）tinged with a certain sadness when groups of friends remain exactly the same over the course of a few years， but a selfish part of every person wants people to repeat themselves out of 7）nostalgia. You want to put everything into a little music box and open it up at will， seeing the tiny dancers spinning just the way they were when you left them.
His cheeks 8）flared red when I said this. We weren’t， like most friends， used to speaking so 9）candidly about the way we feel towards each other. He told me some sweet things， and I felt a 10）catch at the back of my throat.“Don’t cry， ” I thought， “It’s going to be all weird if you cry， and tonight is about having fun.”
There is no perfect way to execute a goodbye. There is the lightness and the familiarity that we all want， the feeling that even its final moments， a relationship is still just as fun as it always was. Because when we are saying goodbye to someone， we’re not just talking to them， we’re talking to the person that we are at this very moment. We know， even if we don’t want to admit it， that we will never be in this exact same 11）spot again. We will never see the world the same way， and closing the door on someone’s chapter means committing it officially to memory—that it’s no longer an 12）organic， living thing.
“If nothing ever changes，” we think， without even really thinking it， “then maybe we can be young forever.” I think I said a hundred goodbyes that night， sometimes forcing myself to go back and add one last thought before the person walked out the door. I told certain people what I’ve always thought of them， told them that I believed in them， told them that they were good at that thing they’ve always considered just a hobby. Goodbyes are a certain brush with 13）mortality， the feeling of time running out that leads you to say everything you’ve ever considered too uncomfortably honest. There were people I’ve known for years who only in that moment heard what I truly felt for them with no filter， and all I regretted was not having told them before.
There are people we will never be able to say goodbye to， even if we have to leave. They are the ones we will make every last effort to stay close to， the people we will write and call and video chat with in the early morning hours to 14）accommodate time zone 15）discrepancies. The two of you will look at ticket prices and plan trips and make sure there is always a couch that the other can crash on， even 16）on short notice. They are the loves that can’t be 17）tempered by distance or time， and the goodbyes you force yourselves to say are really just an “I’ll see you soon，” even if they make your chest hurt in the moment. Even when you are about to leave， you imagine that you’ll see them just one more time， even if it’s getting a coffee at the 18）airport terminal.
When the party was over， I wondered how many of these people I would really never see again. I picked up my 19）belongings and walked as slowly as possible to the door， counting every step to see how long I could make the exit last. And while I knew， on some level， that many of the goodbyes I had said were 20）permanent ones， I thought it better to assume that I would see all of them again some day， even in the same room. It seemed a better way to live life， imagining that your next 21）reunion is just 22）around the corner， and that your story will never have to come to a real ending.
三年多前，我来到一个新的城市，和一个朋友住在一起。他的朋友们全都过来拜访，还做了鞑靼牛排和炸薯条欢迎我的到来。他们成了我的第一批新朋友。自此之后，我没能在同一个地方再见到他们所有人，不是因为时间限制，就是因为距离太远，又或者是安排不过来。昨晚，我们再次欢聚一堂—每一个还留在这个城市的朋友—烹制鞑靼牛排和炸薯条，然而却是为了践行。在这样的送别会里，你根本无需多言，因为你心知这样的相聚将再次出现，只是时间的问题。
“你人真的很好，”在举办聚会的门厅里，我对其中一个朋友这么说，“真的很高兴认识了你。”
这是我们最后一次举行这样的聚会：我们生活在同一个地方、拥有同等的自由、迎接我们的是同样广阔的未来。是的，有一天我会回来的，可是那时将时过境迁。这是一件好事。多年后，许多朋友都一如既往，可是每个人都会自私地希望人们怀念当年的自己，这样的念想总会让人感到那么一点忧伤。你想把一切都装进小巧的音乐盒里，跟随心意随时打开，好看着那个娇小的舞者像当年你离开时那样旋转舞动。 我说这些话时，他满脸通红。我们不像大多数密友那样，常常坦率地向对方表达自己的心声。他对我说了一些感人的话，我感到喉咙一紧。“不能哭，”我对自己说，“如果你哭了，气氛就会变得很奇怪的，今晚大家是要好好玩耍的。”
这世上并没有一个完美的道别方式。我们都希望用熟悉的、轻描淡写的方式道别，希望即便是最后一刻，彼此之间的情谊也能像往常一样轻松有趣。因为当我们道别时，我们不仅仅是对他们说再见，也是对那个时刻的那个人道别。就算不愿意承认，我们也都明白，我们再也不可能回到此时此地。我们不会再以同样的方式看待这个世界，而结束某一个人的故事章节意味着将它正式封存给回忆—它不再是一个有机的、活生生的事物。
“如果所有的一切都不曾改变，”我们自以为，却未曾真正思索过，“那么也许我们可以永葆青春。”
我猜那天晚上我说了不下百次的“再见”，有时候强迫着自己往回走，在某个朋友踏出门口之前再说一句心里话。我告诉某些朋友我总是想起他们，告诉他们我信任他们，告诉他们就算是业余爱好的项目，他们也玩得很棒。再见就像是让死神碰一下，它让你感到时间在流逝，促使你说出每一件你曾认为坦诚相告会不舒服的事情。有些人我认识了许多年，他们却只在那一刻才听到我真正的、发自内心的、毫无保留的心声，我只后悔没有早点告诉他们。
有些人我们再也没有机会道别，尽管我们不得不分开。他们是那些我们想尽办法希望留在身边的人，是那些我们为了顺应时差，会一大早就写信、打电话或者视频聊天的人。你们彼此会关注票价起伏，计划行程奔赴相见，并确保总有一张沙发能给对方舒舒服服地躺着，甚至临时通知也能做到。它们是时间和空间都无法磨灭的爱，你强迫自己说出的道别实际上是另一句“我们很快就会再见”，尽管说出的那刻它仍让你感到心痛。就算你将要离去，你也会想象自己会再次见到他们，即便只是在机场候机楼喝一杯咖啡。
聚会结束之后，我想知道在这些朋友当中，有多少人是不会再见了。我提起行李，尽可能慢地走向大门，计算着每一步，想知道这样的离开需要多长时间。当我意识到，在某种意义上，我的许多道别实际上成了永别，我想如果设想自己某一天会再见到他们所有人，甚至是在这同一个房间里相聚或许会更好。想象你的下一次团聚即将到来，你的故事便永远不会真正地结束—这或许是一个更美好的生活方式。
Over three years ago， I stayed with a friend in a new city， and his friends all came over and made 1）steak tartare and fries for a welcome dinner. They became my first new friends. Since， I had never seen them all together in the same place， for 2）constraints of time or distance or 3）scheduling. Last night， we were all together again—every last one of us—and made steak tartare and fries as a goodbye dinner. It was the kind of 4）farewell where you don’t even really need to say anything， because part of you knows that it will happen again， it’s just a question of when.
“You’re a really good person，”I told a friend in the hallway of the 5）house party， “and I’m really glad that I got to know you.”
It was the last one we’d have just like that， with all of us in the same place and the same level of freedom and the same open future ahead of us. I would come back some day， yes， but nothing would be quite the same. And that’s a good thing. It’s always 6）tinged with a certain sadness when groups of friends remain exactly the same over the course of a few years， but a selfish part of every person wants people to repeat themselves out of 7）nostalgia. You want to put everything into a little music box and open it up at will， seeing the tiny dancers spinning just the way they were when you left them.
His cheeks 8）flared red when I said this. We weren’t， like most friends， used to speaking so 9）candidly about the way we feel towards each other. He told me some sweet things， and I felt a 10）catch at the back of my throat.“Don’t cry， ” I thought， “It’s going to be all weird if you cry， and tonight is about having fun.”
There is no perfect way to execute a goodbye. There is the lightness and the familiarity that we all want， the feeling that even its final moments， a relationship is still just as fun as it always was. Because when we are saying goodbye to someone， we’re not just talking to them， we’re talking to the person that we are at this very moment. We know， even if we don’t want to admit it， that we will never be in this exact same 11）spot again. We will never see the world the same way， and closing the door on someone’s chapter means committing it officially to memory—that it’s no longer an 12）organic， living thing.
“If nothing ever changes，” we think， without even really thinking it， “then maybe we can be young forever.” I think I said a hundred goodbyes that night， sometimes forcing myself to go back and add one last thought before the person walked out the door. I told certain people what I’ve always thought of them， told them that I believed in them， told them that they were good at that thing they’ve always considered just a hobby. Goodbyes are a certain brush with 13）mortality， the feeling of time running out that leads you to say everything you’ve ever considered too uncomfortably honest. There were people I’ve known for years who only in that moment heard what I truly felt for them with no filter， and all I regretted was not having told them before.
There are people we will never be able to say goodbye to， even if we have to leave. They are the ones we will make every last effort to stay close to， the people we will write and call and video chat with in the early morning hours to 14）accommodate time zone 15）discrepancies. The two of you will look at ticket prices and plan trips and make sure there is always a couch that the other can crash on， even 16）on short notice. They are the loves that can’t be 17）tempered by distance or time， and the goodbyes you force yourselves to say are really just an “I’ll see you soon，” even if they make your chest hurt in the moment. Even when you are about to leave， you imagine that you’ll see them just one more time， even if it’s getting a coffee at the 18）airport terminal.
When the party was over， I wondered how many of these people I would really never see again. I picked up my 19）belongings and walked as slowly as possible to the door， counting every step to see how long I could make the exit last. And while I knew， on some level， that many of the goodbyes I had said were 20）permanent ones， I thought it better to assume that I would see all of them again some day， even in the same room. It seemed a better way to live life， imagining that your next 21）reunion is just 22）around the corner， and that your story will never have to come to a real ending.
三年多前，我来到一个新的城市，和一个朋友住在一起。他的朋友们全都过来拜访，还做了鞑靼牛排和炸薯条欢迎我的到来。他们成了我的第一批新朋友。自此之后，我没能在同一个地方再见到他们所有人，不是因为时间限制，就是因为距离太远，又或者是安排不过来。昨晚，我们再次欢聚一堂—每一个还留在这个城市的朋友—烹制鞑靼牛排和炸薯条，然而却是为了践行。在这样的送别会里，你根本无需多言，因为你心知这样的相聚将再次出现，只是时间的问题。
“你人真的很好，”在举办聚会的门厅里，我对其中一个朋友这么说，“真的很高兴认识了你。”
这是我们最后一次举行这样的聚会：我们生活在同一个地方、拥有同等的自由、迎接我们的是同样广阔的未来。是的，有一天我会回来的，可是那时将时过境迁。这是一件好事。多年后，许多朋友都一如既往，可是每个人都会自私地希望人们怀念当年的自己，这样的念想总会让人感到那么一点忧伤。你想把一切都装进小巧的音乐盒里，跟随心意随时打开，好看着那个娇小的舞者像当年你离开时那样旋转舞动。 我说这些话时，他满脸通红。我们不像大多数密友那样，常常坦率地向对方表达自己的心声。他对我说了一些感人的话，我感到喉咙一紧。“不能哭，”我对自己说，“如果你哭了，气氛就会变得很奇怪的，今晚大家是要好好玩耍的。”
这世上并没有一个完美的道别方式。我们都希望用熟悉的、轻描淡写的方式道别，希望即便是最后一刻，彼此之间的情谊也能像往常一样轻松有趣。因为当我们道别时，我们不仅仅是对他们说再见，也是对那个时刻的那个人道别。就算不愿意承认，我们也都明白，我们再也不可能回到此时此地。我们不会再以同样的方式看待这个世界，而结束某一个人的故事章节意味着将它正式封存给回忆—它不再是一个有机的、活生生的事物。
“如果所有的一切都不曾改变，”我们自以为，却未曾真正思索过，“那么也许我们可以永葆青春。”
我猜那天晚上我说了不下百次的“再见”，有时候强迫着自己往回走，在某个朋友踏出门口之前再说一句心里话。我告诉某些朋友我总是想起他们，告诉他们我信任他们，告诉他们就算是业余爱好的项目，他们也玩得很棒。再见就像是让死神碰一下，它让你感到时间在流逝，促使你说出每一件你曾认为坦诚相告会不舒服的事情。有些人我认识了许多年，他们却只在那一刻才听到我真正的、发自内心的、毫无保留的心声，我只后悔没有早点告诉他们。
有些人我们再也没有机会道别，尽管我们不得不分开。他们是那些我们想尽办法希望留在身边的人，是那些我们为了顺应时差，会一大早就写信、打电话或者视频聊天的人。你们彼此会关注票价起伏，计划行程奔赴相见，并确保总有一张沙发能给对方舒舒服服地躺着，甚至临时通知也能做到。它们是时间和空间都无法磨灭的爱，你强迫自己说出的道别实际上是另一句“我们很快就会再见”，尽管说出的那刻它仍让你感到心痛。就算你将要离去，你也会想象自己会再次见到他们，即便只是在机场候机楼喝一杯咖啡。
聚会结束之后，我想知道在这些朋友当中，有多少人是不会再见了。我提起行李，尽可能慢地走向大门，计算着每一步，想知道这样的离开需要多长时间。当我意识到，在某种意义上，我的许多道别实际上成了永别，我想如果设想自己某一天会再见到他们所有人，甚至是在这同一个房间里相聚或许会更好。想象你的下一次团聚即将到来，你的故事便永远不会真正地结束—这或许是一个更美好的生活方式。