There are good people on the road.
There are good people at home.
They look into your pain, grab it in a brave hand and clench it from growing up
They hold your shoulders when they’re dragged on the broken floor
They slap your face when you get lost in the panic chaos
They don’t cry, because if they will- no one will be there to clean up the mess.
They are there for you, on the road.
They are there for you, and they are already gone.