Unmoving.

'When I don't have you
I have nobody.'
This sadly universal circumstance
haunting thousands
of lonely people in this world.
They sit in the dark at 3a.m.
in beds, streets, by windows
staring at nothing all the while
having visions of warmth, loves,
or both.
Their far-away eyes
reflecting their far-away lives.

Like lone wolves they're
hungered and slightly deranged.
A stillness. A peace and quiet
that linger about their rounded shoulders,
hung heads, downcast sleepless eyes.
But they weren't peaceful at all.
Memory of senses like a caress of the cheek,
a whiff of cologne, an unmet passing glance,
or whisperings of dying laughter;
clawed at them.
Relentless and unforgiving.
So they sat unmoving.