You walked away.
I didn't beg in person.
I save it for the shower, when I can swallow my pride and let God sort out the tears from the water.

You walked away.
I cried but not for long.
I save it for when I'm alone, and the light from the stars bleeds with my bleary vision.

You walked away.
I couldn't do anything to help you.
I still think long and hard, though, about how I can save you from the pain you're in.

I can't walk away.
Your footprints are getting hard to track.
Your image wavers on the horizon, and I'm just waiting for you to look back.