Zeylheim's trembling hand had lingered on the door into the Pony for so long that he held up the line. Someone passed him into it. It was the wakening call to him, to drag him from his frozen state.
A dilemma, he had seen his most sincerest of friends walk in. This night, another night as well. He had been gone for so long, and yet he remembers her so clearly. The dark cloud of emotions in his head wins over, and he steps back from the door. What would he even say? She would be mad and she had every right to be. Whatever great amount of what he felt so long ago, whatever parts of himself he remanded to her back then no longer meant anything, in all likelihood. He speaks a silent prayer to the door, as if the words will find their way through it to her, and undoubtedly they don't.
"I shouldn't'a left...I shouldn't'a left at all, and I shouldn't'a left you here alone. It didn't matter...I'm sorry." He pauses and descends the steps to walk away, "I'll write you...I hope."
