by Josie McCall
I used to think,
Being lonely was how I felt,
Between when I looked at the clock,
And when you were due home from work.
I was fooling myself.
Being lonely,
Is knowing
You will never walk through the door again.
Pain, like a blow to the chest,
Knocks the wind out of me.
I’m unable to put into words
The hurricane blowing through me,
The icy wind of loss,
The white-hot anger at being abandoned.
Being lonely was how I felt,
Between when I looked at the clock,
And when you were due home from work.
I was fooling myself.
Being lonely,
Is knowing
You will never walk through the door again.
Pain, like a blow to the chest,
Knocks the wind out of me.
I’m unable to put into words
The hurricane blowing through me,
The icy wind of loss,
The white-hot anger at being abandoned.
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