Cold World

I'm waiting, but I'm not sure who I'm waiting for.

He says goodnight and starts to walk away.

I want to call after him, tell him I need his advice.

But what's the point? What could he tell me that would make me feel better?

I turn away, the chill hitting my body.

My jacket hangs useless over my arm.

I call my mother and hear the silence and wonder why she isn't saying something to comfort me.

I see a billboard for some chocolatey goodness, but I swore off food long ago.

I wonder why no one is looking at me, talking to me.

The cop stands idly, and I want to be stopped, if only for conversation.

I try to calm down, forcing the tears away.

I tried to make it in the world, but who am I kidding.

My safe secure insular frum bubble has not prepared me for this.

I sit at a bus stop, pretending I have somewhere to be.

It's a cold cold world out there.