It’s 3 AM and I’m lying wide awake making small talk with my ceiling. My mind grinds like a bad clutch never getting traction and my major malfunction is you. School will be starting again next week and soon I will once again be prowling the freezing streets alone. I never spent the summer with you and the change in scenery was lovely, but now I have to face the seasons you stained yourself in. Soon, I will have to wear my scarf to protect my pumping lungs from the midnight and morning frost and I am terrified. Terrified because when I folded that scarf last it smelt like you. You stole my heart as the leaves left their green uniforms for the colors of the inferno you left me in. Once again my fingertips will burn and numb, but this time I will not have a reason to keep walking in the midnight winter wonderland, and jazz music can only get you so far. How long will it be again before someone can coax me out of my warmth by the mere thought of holding them? It’s 3 AM, and my ceiling is tired of hearing this story.