The Lodgings

It's with a heavy heart, some might say, that he returned home day after day.
Invariably it would be late, when he came back, from being rushed, busy and away.
When he returned the light in the hall would still be burning, dimly casting light
Out of the windows set in the front door. Spilt warmth flickering into the night.
The light would make his heart jump as he slotted and turned his key, always,
as he thought perhaps the lodgers other than he would be around to talk about their days.

Without fail, something he never prepared himself for, that flickering heart would sink.
He'd no sooner step inside and the light would be just that- a left on light. He'd blink
a rapid defence against the deflated sense of being once again alone in the lodgings.
The three others who rented with him would know nothing of it, why burden such things
on their shoulders? It wasn't their life to bear. And so with a heavy heart, his evening
would carry on as normal- some work, a meal and bed, where sleep would evade, morosely brooding.

The three other lodgers, he couldn't blame them. They were always away with their flings,
and though they left him, it was only he who inflicted on himself the cold and empty lodgings.