First thing I did was run from the scene,
left the old streets and all they’d seen.
She said goodbye — I froze in place,
then turned before tears showed on my face.

Then came the nights I caved to the haze,
lines on the table, weeks in a daze.
Each hit a way to not recall —
but nothing numbed the fall at all.

I crossed state lines, left all I knew,
wore smiles I borrowed and played them through.
But even then, she stayed inside —
a quiet weight I couldn’t hide.

So I left it all, the past, the place,
the life I built around her trace.
Not to explore the world or start anew,
but to survive a life that ended with you.


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