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
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