Your life was none of their business and yet they chose to step in. They walk in with their little bundles of things you've never seen before. And before you know it, moment by moment, memory by memory, they take up all that place inside. Them and their bundles. When cog wheels have turned on and on, after all that happens, that is said, that is done, that is shed, that has grown, that has changed, that has bettered and that has passed, the news is broken to you. That minute of knowing is no different from the others.
Pacts are made and so are promises. Sometimes even that doesn't happen. Debates on importance of physical presence happen. Everything from Skype to Facebook to Whatsapp is thought of. And then after the last few desperate hours spent together, bags are packed, tags are tied, luggage is checked in; trains are caught.
You walk back home through the same old road, but you don't know yet. Brave attempts are made to keep those cogs tighter still. As they seem to loosen unconsciously, you notice this vaccuum within, from the nothingness they leave behind; from the space that was them, the warmth that was them, the images that were them, the food, the arguements, the hugs, the smell that was them.
Vaccuum remains a vaccuum remains a vaccuum. One shape doesn't fit all. So that's how you walk around then on. With a vaccuum inside. You'll go to the same places, see the same things, see the same things change, do the same things, meet the same people and walk through the same road. Except this time around you will want to put a silent sign somewhere:
"Beware of the Town Leavers"
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