• It falls down your face.
    You're scared to admit that you're scared,
    that you don't know what comes next.
    And the portrait you painted and the memories are all you have left.
    So you mourn in the bathroom
    with the door locked and shut.
    And you run the shower so no one hears the sobs.
    "Men don't cry," the saying goes.
    But you cry anyway even if it makes you less of a man.
    When you lose the one you love
    crying over the memories is all you have.
    And so you wipe off your face and you stare in the mirror.
    And you're starting to forget who you are.
    Who is that looking back at you?
    And where did the girl you love go?
    Why did she go?
    And you get angry and you hit your fist against the wall and you leave.
    You walk through the living room with the people you don't know.
    And you walk straight through a group of your best friends
    as they try to ask what's wrong.
    And you get in your car.
    And you pull away.
    And you drive to the bank.
    You get all the money you have.
    And you drive away.
    And you never look back.
    And you find a new town
    where no one knows who you are.
    They don't know your name
    And they don't know your story.
    So you make this place home.
    And you put up the portrait you painted
    And then you live without your loved one.
    And you think about her everyday.
    But you never cry again.
    Not in pain.
    Not in misery.
    Not at all.
    And you paint a new portrait.
    And then you hang it on the wall.
    But your friends never found you
    and they never came looking.
    And you float from town to town.
    And you listen to the birds in the morning.
    And then.
    And then you gave up.