Sometimes I walk home and I beg the wind for a kind word,
For the tender touch of a lover to appear on the curb,
For my shadow not to loom so lonely before me.
Everyone’s windows seem more golden than mine,
And I wonder what it must feel like to be surrounded by bodies born of my body,
To sink into a sofa and look up at the reassuring loveliness of a home that’s all mine.
But for now I'm outside, trudging home, scraping pennies and shrugging off the burden of the dream that brought me here.
I wonder what it’s like to feel truly free? To not have ambition drive you constantly into dead ends?
I sit on the wall and breathe at the sky.
Too disheartened to mutter up a word of gratitude, too tired to cry,
But to driven to throw it all in.