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