Being left is worse than leaving. I’m almost always the one leaving, for college, for home, for Europe, for the States, especially in the past year or so. If it’s not my parents it’s my friends, I’m always leaving, packing up, and saying goodbyes. Leaving might be difficult, but being left is always infinitely worse for me. I’ve always been especially averse to being left ever since I was little. I hated it when my parents left me. Saying goodbye is always hard, but when you are the one leaving you are soon occupied with your new destination. But when you are the one who’s left behind, you are confronted with a horrible void and plagued with a handful of lingering memories that you simply don’t know what to do with. There’s nothing new to distract you from missing what used to be there. So you sit there and carefully process and pack away the memories for a later time, hoping they won’t come out at night and bite.