I didn't cry when he left. I didn't cry when I got the news he was leaving the state. I wasn't wiping away tears when the date came closer and closer to us. I hadn't frowned when he packed his bags, took the last flight in the chilly August night, and sped away to a new world for him to explore. Never once did I pass by his old home with loss in my heart. He was ready to take on this new opportunity in his life so why should I be sad? It's not like I won't see him again. He'll always say hi, send me a picture, call me when he wants to. It'll be the same through and through until I join him on my own ride.
But it was on that last night on the drive back to his house, before I would say my final goodbyes that I had felt like my happiness was crumbling down. It wasn't because of the time that had slipped away from me. Nor was it because I had realized that my only comfort and solace was from him, and that would be gone from me just as the moon reached its peak. But it was when, in the silence of the empty road ahead, dim yellow lights brightening the droplets of leftover rain on the pavement, that the gentle sounds of his voice singing calmly to the tunes of the radio destroyed what was left in me. It was as if he knew nothing was going to change, and we would return to our homes and see each other again the next day. He sung with such warmth, such freedom from his heart. I couldn't compose myself, and in an instant I turned away to let the tears fall. I don't think he had noticed, and I was thankful for that. I've heard that the first thing you lose when someone leaves is the sound of their voice, but I knew then that that would be the last thing I would give up on.
