i'll follow you.
we drag our feet through the snow, wetness dampening our shoes and socks.
the bags under your eyes aren't all that worrying, but then again, i have them as well.
we are walking to the train station, and it will be just around the corner. people meander about around us. they are trying to find a home- their 'somewhere i belong'-type deal.
i don't know about you, but i don't think there's anyplace like that for me.
we're sitting down on this wooden bench and you light a cigarette. someday, i suppose i'll make you stop.
i'm not ready for this. i'm not ready and you're just...leaving.
don't leave.
if i tell you that, you