Nothing Blonde Can Stay

I don't want you to leave.

He wants to say it,
but he's a coward of the worst kind.
He knows he'd stumble on every word,
and in the end, it wouldn't even matter.

The boy is leaving, and there is absolutely nothing he can do.
"Where are you going?"
He watches the smaller boy shrug,
and something in the air makes him feel sick.
It makes his eyes burn.

"Somewhere far from this place."
The blonde shoves another thin shirt into his bag, before closing it.
The quick zzzzzzzzzip sounds finalizing as it floats through the air.

Axel wants to tell him that maybe he'll need more clothing,
something warmer than a t-shirt,
But he doesn't say anything.

He hopes that maybe, if the nights get too cold, Roxas will come back.
Deep inside, he knows the boy is leaving for good.

"But this is your home."
He can hear the way his voice is starting to sound.
Gurgling and choked off with desperation.
The tell tale signs of on coming tears.

"No it isn't, I'm going to find my home..."
The words sound cruel and Axel feels betrayed.
He can't believe Roxas is leaving him behind.

I'm here, aren't I worth anything?
Can't I make it feel like home?

Again there is silence,
and instead of telling the blonde how badly this all hurts,
he just shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.

"How will you know where your home is?" by now, speaking is painful, not just difficult.
But Roxas doesn't notice.
In fact, he's picking up his bag and heading towards the door.
Years of friendship, and he can't even see how much this is destroying his friend.

"I'll know I'm home, when I feel whole."

Axel watches sadly as the small boy grabs the door knob.
There is a moment's pause, a slight hesitation in the blonde's steps
and Axel let's himself feel hope.

Turn around and tell me you're staying.
Change your mind, and tell me your home is right here.
With me.

That doesn't happen.
The hesitation is gone, just like Roxas will be soon,
and Axel can do nothing,
but stare with eyes which are now flowing tears,
as the blonde walks away.

Years later, the boy turned man, will regret not saying anything.
But for now, he just stands there, wondering if maybe he'll ever have the chance,
to feel whole himself.

A/N: I feel like I should explain myself for this crappy...story? (whatever the hell this is).
I've wanted to try getting the same feelings across that I do in my longer stories, in a much shorter one.
Sort of like Ellen Hopkins, yanno?
I know I fail at life and stuff, and this probably shouldn't even be posted because it sucks so bad but we live and learn, I guess.

Also, this is probably my last update for a looooooooooong time.
My computer's operating system was erased, and with it, all my stories.
I'm debating if I should even bother to continue...
Ah, we'll see.

Yours truly, Sharmander.

(and yes, the title is totally like the Robert Frost poem)