Some people leave quietly,
Not with footsteps,
But with silence.
We kept planning futures
Like trains we’d someday catch,
Yet stayed sitting on the same bench.
Maybe love was never the problem—
Maybe fear was.
Some people leave quietly,
Not with footsteps,
But with silence.
We kept planning futures
Like trains we’d someday catch,
Yet stayed sitting on the same bench.
Maybe love was never the problem—
Maybe fear was.