Until I got too cold

I left him for dead and most likely he was. Most likely he was gone at that point. But I’ll never really know for sure. I’ll never really know if there’s something I could have done. Other than run and hide and pretend. That everything was going to be okay.

I left him for dead and ran and hid and pretended. Until it got too dark. Until I got too cold. Until there was nothing I could do. But go home. Alone.

I left him for dead and all the poetry in the world can’t change the past.