There were nights I spent,
with my hands pressed against a cold window
waiting.
For headlights that said you were home.
For the stomping of your heavy boots,
for the thud of a closing door,
for the swish of your jacket,
And your footsteps down the stairs.

There were nights I spent at that window,
hours and hours that wouldn’t end.

Today I am sitting at a different window
But I still don’t see your headlights.
It’s been seven or eight years by now
-you lose track of those numbers somewhere after three.

I am 17 today.
I was 17 yesterday too.
I will be 17 tomorrow.

I’m trying to use that as my constant
because I cannot use you.

You are the sky in a bright city.
Everyone looks up to you,
but they never find any stars.

I never needed any stars from you,
I never needed to look up and find you,
shielding me from above.
I never needed that.

I just needed your headlights,
just my window and your headlights,
the stomping boots and the door,
the swish and your footsteps.

I just needed… no
I just wanted
your headlights.