left behind

trapped between the doors, where there is no light or air, watching the backs of those you love, dwindling, heads bowed, holding hands your hands once held, leaving now to wearily climb the distant mountains, gone from your sight forever. even if the doors opened now, you’d never catch up to them, tracking them to the end of your days across the plains, hobbled with grief. from time to time coming across some heartbreaking memento they’d dropped along the way – a tear, a faded photograph, a small and crumbling memory of you

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