Seventeen degrees out.

You’re huddled in your blanket, on your phone.

Your head is pounding and your eyes hurt.

But you can’t be bothered with medication.

They never help, you think to yourself.

And your finger continues gliding over the glass.


Part of you hurts on the inside.

Part of the headache is because of the tears.

Your eyes burn when you close them,

Because of what you did a while back.

You cried.


You cried all alone.

You cried to yourself.

You cried because you were desolate.

Because you were sad.

Because you felt left out.


You cried because you had nobody to talk to.

And nobody to share your worries with.

Nobody who could show you a good time,

And help you forget what bothered you.

Even if temporarily.


You force yourself to get up.

And cup your face in your palms.

Breathing in, you consume the pain.

Breathing out, you let go.

You grab a bottle and drink some water.


What do you do then?

Do you feel bad?

Do you feel sorry for yourself?

Do you cry again?

Do you accept your situation?


The world is finite.

And so are people.

You may have a hundred friends.

But you’ll still feel lonely.

All that matters are the ones who really have your back.


Because without them, your world is bland.

Without them, you’re not yourself.

Without them, you’re forsaken.

Without them, you’re lost.