They always leave.
They always leave too soon.
Before I can tell them anything. Before I can tell them what I think. Before I can tell them how I feel. Before I can tell them the truth.
They leave too soon.
Before I can play with them. Before I can get closer to them. Before...
They all leave.
I don't want them to leave. I want them to stay.
To stay with me.
But they won't. Once they cross those doors, once they leave the building, once they're gone, I can't do anything.
They're already gone by then.
What can I do?
I can't do anything.
A child stuck in a hospital room glancing at the world outside from the window to his left.
They're there. Outside. They're there. I can't reach them. They're there. I can't reach them.
The whole world is outside this room. I can't reach them.
Why can't I reach them?
