walks

lonely walks

two a.m. on a cold saturday night

falling into the shadows of street lamps

jumping every time you hear a car 

pass by

no jacket because the cold wind 

against your cheek is real

remembering the best mistakes

contemplating the meaning of life

idle daydreams

half-asleep wishes

there is no one

but you

and it’s enough to think

maybe you’re the only one 

left

who thinks

dreams

hopes

believes in anything

the last human left

and that’s the worst horror story 

i can think of