Never Waiting

 I rise each morning to an empty bed,
an empty space beside me that could never hold me.
Each day, I jump in my car to reach another deserted destination.
There is no one waiting for me with roses.
This is the life I have created for myself,
a life of voices as my only companions.
Am I not proud of my independence?
Was this not what I wanted?
I have clouded my vision of freedom with this sour life.
I convinced myself that dreams would romance me enough,
that a friend would do every once in awhile.
I did not know how lonely the echo would be
nor did I know my perseverance would falter.
It is grand to not have any strings.
I never explain myself to the ones who try to change me.
In a sense, I am free of the burden of obligation.
I do not have to care if another heart is breaking
yet I long for the warmth of another body.
I need to feel arms entangled with mine.
When I fall to sleep, I do not want to be alone.
Somewhere in the night when I entertain a man, I leave them to their empty bed
with nothing to remember me by
because I do not want any obligations just the same.
I cannot be angry at the lonely space beside me
and I cannot grow weary of the roses never waiting
because this freedom that sometimes leaves me lonely
has become my comfortable solitude.