Your footsteps scuff across my driveway,
you're covered from head to toe in salt,
It's 11 past 12 in the morning,
and I've let you in one last time, for comfort from the cold.
You said your goodbyes,
with a towel wrapped around you tight,
Never letting those emotions escape past the floor,
Or being phased by the hype.
Conscience doesn't exist with you,
Not caring who you fall before,
Wanting to be noticed by the one that needs you least,
And hating to be recognized by the person you adore.
