Some summer midnights 
Reminds me of the winter cold;
Thoughts too adamant to leave 
And rugs too heavy to fold. 
It's the frequent shivers 
That resembles November,
And on such nights,
The heart hates the mind 
For all that it remembers. 

Her hands drifting into another's,
And it hurts to see the firmness 
That was once firmly mine.
The bed calls but the silence haunts
At quarter past nine.

So I take a walk into the dark 
Only to see a few alike embark;
To aid congestion, I build them 
A campfire for warmth
And continue to walk 
On the path they call 
'The path of an empath'