Nighthawk

I know it’s nearing closing time, the woman in the red dress left long ago, 
in the arms of another man. 
Sometimes I wonder if I stay out late to avoid what’s waiting for me. 
There is nothing quite so lonely
as coming home from a long day
where there’s no one to share it with. 
All my books are in tight rows, my bed is neatly made, the kitchen always carefully organized, nothing out of place. 
There’s no family to mess it up, none of the comforting disorder of a typical home. 
The cutting boards are smooth, no knife has ever chopped dinner on them. 
The pans are immaculate, no one has ever left the steak on just a little too long, creating a smell of alarm,
leaving a stain. 
The beds are made; 
there are no kids to leave their sheets tousled, 
forgetting to keep the order. 
In the morning I never wake up to the smell of burning toast, to the clanging of pans, 
to raised voices 
arguing over something inane. 
Many would consider me lucky 
to not have these things. 
I always have constant order. 
But I long for the irregularity, for the messiness, for the things that make this life less lonely. 
For the things that make everyday life feel real. 
As I look around this quite empty bar, I wonder what I’ve done wrong to end up here. 
What I’ve done wrong so that there’s no one to hold me at night, I have no real friends to call, and a lifeless bar feels more comforting than home. 
It’s just me and the bartender, and I catch his anxious glance, 
probably wondering how much longer until he can go home. 
I didn’t grow up being scared of this reality. 
I was taught to be afraid of minimum wage jobs, and barely making your rent. 
This life is not what I was taught to avoid. 
No one ever mentioned this. 
Those sleepless years, all those hours upon hours of work,  no one ever told me that they could lead to such loneliness. 
It’s always been: work hard, make people proud, be successful 
And the rest will follow. 
The family will figure itself out, the falling in love, the children. 
No one ever tells you how important that will feel,
or how empty you’ll feel without it.
You see I’ve never been in love.