It is nearing that time of year,
Where your heart feels like its peeled a thousand layers,
Set over the course of a scorched dry summer,
Becoming extra sensitive to the all to familiar rejection.
The happy couples make you whimper,
Suffering in your lonely exile.
Twenty going on fifteen,
With an empty hole even words cannot fill.
From your castle you envy those who jump from lover to lover.
Because you,
You don’t move.
You stand silent and read every word that isn’t said:
"I need you. I miss you.
I love you"
Though maybe tomorrow you'll be stronger,
You'll still tuck yourself into that scarf,
And protect your ever aching heart.
From another freezing winter.
From another six-months of Decay.
Only to live and survive,
Like a rock in a desert.
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