When nobody's home as you say you're leaving,
when you shut the door on someone whose heart is bleeding,
face the pain. Face the rain that's pouring in your soul, face it because after awhile it gets old. You get cold.
The love you had for life shrivels up and dies and because you pushed them all away, no one is there to carry the pain.
To push through the hurt and the hate. To be your guiding light. The person you call out to when you have a bad night.
When you wake up in the morning and your wrists are bleeding or your head is beating or your heart could fall apart there is no one there because you were so caught up in yourself that you never noticed them.
The pain that was so similar to yours, the holes in your hearts were in the same places. The rage in your minds with no justification. They pushed you away and you pushed right back, secretly wanting them to apologize and make it better.
They were tired of that. They were tired of the spotlight that was always frozen on you and your pain, never once moving to acknowledge them. To acknowledge the battles they fought alongside you, where you weren't the only hero.
Where you weren't the only one to get burned and come out of the fight with battle scars that marred so deep they could be seen in expressions alone and heard In the tone of their voice when they said, "I'm done." And meant it.
When the grenade goes off, you're never the only one to get hurt. They're called explosions for a reason