And when those people leave,
they live the prelude of disheveled despair.
Staring off the window, the wind secretes a playlist of yourself crying.
And you don't even know if this is ethereal discover
of pain, of disgraced collapse, of falling for lethal infinity.

And experiences tell you to be calm. Among the chorus of ignorant stars, you are crying alone.
Cringed in the dark. Biting nails. Hands held to the past hearsay. Trying to convince yourself that you still have the broken theme in the hearted short story. Heart hatred. Existential fear.

And you are grounded. Cheeks rants the unloved. Broke into tears.

And when fear name the game.

Those people never leave.