A.F.I - The Leaving Song Pt.II
People leave. They don’t do it on a schedule, and absence isn’t neat. They just fucking go sometimes, and you’re left scrambling to figure out what’s left behind. There’s no heads-up, no “I’m gone now, deal with it,” just empty spaces and a punch to the gut where they used to be. And yeah, selfishly, it pisses you off. You want them here. You want them to stay. You want them to think about what it means for you, but the world doesn’t care that you want that. And, honestly, neither do they.
I keep thinking about why people leave. It isn’t about you...or at least it’s not supposed to be but fuck...it still feels like it. Their choice rattles through your routines, your mind, your stupid little expectations of life. You notice the silence where their voice used to be, the empty chair, the habit you had of hearing from them, of relying on them. And you want to scream at the universe that this seems unfair, But fairness has nothing to do with it. People leave because they choose to, or because life drags them somewhere else, or because they fucking want to. And it’s messy.
Absence isn’t neat. You can’t line it up in boxes or schedule it into a day. You can’t control the grief, the longing, the little pangs that hit randomly and make you feel like you’re losing your mind. And yeah...selfishly, you hate it. You hate that you miss them this much. You hate that your chest feels tight and your mind won’t shut off. You hate that part of you wants to hoard them, keep them close, hold them in a bubble where they can’t leave, where they can’t hurt you.
The worst is the uncertainty. Not knowing if they’ll come back. Wondering if it could have been different. You replay every word, every look, every moment, searching for a sign, a hint, some clue that it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. And the truth? There is no clue. There is no timeline. There’s just this gaping, messy hole they left behind, and you’re stuck with it.
People leave because they must, because they choose, because life happens. And maybe the most selfish thing is wanting them to have considered you in that choice, wanting them to have weighed your world before they walked away. But they didn’t. They went anyway. Because, fuck you. You aren't their problem. But the hole is yours to deal with. The hurt is yours. The quiet is yours.
It’s anger, grief, longing, selfishness...all tangled together. And it’s okay. It has to be. Because people leave. And they fucking leave a mark. You can’t control it. You can’t schedule it. You can’t tidy it up. But you can carry it forward, even if it stings, even if it rips you open, even if you don’t know what the fuck to do with it. You carry it forward, because that’s all that’s left when someone leaves.
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