Weekends

The winter cold came creeping in, casting frost over any skin that I had left exposed. That season all I could think about was the warmth of a distant house and distant friends that I don't hear from anymore.

Steam chased after my breath. It was getting cold and I was far from home, longing for a familiar touch or an old familiar smile. I haven't seen yours in a while.

This past summer most days after work I would drive by your old place in a sick, nostalgic daze. Despite the heat I kept my hood up just in case so I could always hide my face, but you were never home anyway.

I'm tired of coming back to no one. Aack at home with nothing to do but spend two lengthy days locked in my room. alone again on the weekends.

It's got me worn down: Ft's got me torn now, between two places, and neither of them home. I need them more now: familiar faces so I feel less alone.

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