I like saying goodbyes with a deadline. Meetings to crash, family members to not disappoint. There is an ominous and ubiquitous force telling you to let go, turn your back, and walk away.
Because someone is relying on you to do so. Because catching your train is sensible; missing it is not. Because you have to.
This is not because I'm bad with goodbyes. I'm quite good at them, actually. I side-step out of the throng of people saying their own farewells for the sense of privacy that lets otherwise chaste travelers lean against a pillar and give it one last go. This is my goodbye, why waste it on convention?
By the point of the final farewell, there's really nothing left to say or do, except share a sense of longing with someone else. It doesn't matter if you're leaving or being left behind, the longing is there. If there’s no one else, I'll share it with the book I'm reading. I discretely check my watch. When it's later than it should be, I check it more obviously and make eye contact. I say I should go. Insert Sweet Nothings here at your discretion. We nod, and I turn around. I head to my destination gate, terminal or taxi cab and do not look back until they are just slipping out the door. I am, really, good at them. Experience has taught me well.