It really hurts when you leave. And it's not because you're my friend. It's not because you leave when I'm asleep, so you don't have to say goodbye to me.

It's not because I don't know when I'll see you again, whether it'll be next week or next year. It's not because I know you'll never use a phone to call me, or a map to find your way back.

It's because I've seen you come back without any tears left. I've seen you come back so tired you could die. I've seen you come back bloody and broken.

And you'll never tell me why.

a follow-up