how far I toil, still farther off from thee

They sit behind her eyes and push gently against her tear ducts, always on the verge of spilling into a physical manifestation of her loneliness. Her throat is sore and tired from constant swallowing of sobs.
"I thought we were a team but now I'm not even sure we are playing the same game." Sitting in a damp forest, or on a bed, or at a coffee shop, or in a truck: it's always the same conversation. Different friends but the same company, the same support, the same love. 

Feels like leaving home behind all over again.

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