He is made of promises and memories, piled up newspapers and undrunk cups of tea. His heart’s been a mess since she walked out the door. He can’t bring himself to do much more, but to think of her from night to day. And contemplate why she walked away. Was it something he said? Did her dreams go unfed? He switches back and forth from anger to grief. Inducing himself with sleep for some relief. She promised him tomorrow but she left before today. He asks himself repeatedly, “why didn’t she stay?” He is made of promises and memories from a girl who left so suddenly.