Yes, I am waiting for the cold,
for it is far too warm here as of late,
and this is not how it’s supposed to unfold.
I left home when I was not quite so old
and my choice they all berate.
But I am just waiting for the cold
as if this worry can be controlled,
with that which can inebriate.
Isn’t that how it’s supposed to unfold,
when often I see him and it takes hold?
Wishing I had the words to elaborate,
but he left me waiting in the cold.
It is a story that I rarely have told,
for to him I am the true expatriate.
This is the way it’s supposed to unfold
though its unclear if I could have foretold,
that we would be two separate schoolmates?
On this day, I am still here, waiting on the cold
to freeze the warmth that should not still unfold