alone on a frida night
you chatter over the phone anxiously and i wait patiently on the front step where i have to shake, so cold, just to hear you speak. but as i listen to you voice and you use little words that make it sound okay dear, hun, sweetie i start to believe you just a little. but i have no idea what could make it all okay or what i’m doing talking to you again anyway. maybe this is some big mistake or maybe it isn’t.