Inside

I can show it to you, he says, but there is nothing out there except blackness. Still, he indulges you, and you join him for a cigarette on the balcony in a city whose name you cannot pronounce, in a land you will probably never visit. He calls later to say he cannot sleep, so you stay on the line until he does. They call from other time zones still, the sun bright in the West Coast afternoon, and you miss his laugh, the way his little hand fit around yours as you rode that G train up and down the Brooklyn tracks.

Life turns out to be more farewells sometimes than you can handle. You chose these globetrotters to be your most precious riches because they inspire you to be better than you are, but they are perpetually too far away, forever tugging at your heartstrings, and you wonder if there will ever be people you do not lose.

Who you do not leave behind,
when you run.