Why? Because I know what it is to wake up with a silence where a life should be. Because when you left me on the ground, I felt your absence. Absence is a wound. A corridor. Endless. I walked it, touching the walls, waiting for something - pain, memory, grief - to prove I was ever whole. How I felt whole with you in that moment.

[Sighing, he glances down at his feet, shuffling them uneasily.]

When you left, I heard that corridor open. And I was afraid that if I let it stay open - if I let myself look too long - I would discover that parts of me had already gone missing. Quietly. Without ceremony. So I reacted poorly. With anger. Anger leaves evidence. It says this happened. It says someone was here to be hurt. It felt like you wanted to erase me. Us. When you left me and said it was nothing but a game.