Alone in a populated world

Time and people move around me, but I feel neither.
Silently awake, feeling the fatigue and sleep of the day that I can not succumb to.
Its cold out here, especially when not a soul walks, talks, or breaths around me;
the only warmth coming from lighting up this deadly addiction between my fingers.
The day is full of speech, but I hear none of it; a constant screech of words,
but this night, which is a twin of every other, is my blanket.
I see the occasional car or individual pass by, but I am behind my wall,
and from here they no not that I watch; as I climb just to get a glimpse, and hopefully
think..."Do they think as I do"..."Are they out here for the same reasons I am",
and these thoughts comfort me, until I realize they are just nomads; simply passing by,
these thoughts the furthest from there minds.
I see the eyes of the stray cat staring at me, they wander, and they, they must know why I am out here; she stares intensely at me, and she must know;
she must know why I stand silently in this night, this beautiful night.
I see the cigarette growing smaller, and its almost time to go in, where it is dead;
at least the night is full; silent yes, but by no means dead.
I see the last of the smoke leave my lungs...its time to go in...
but I will be back here, where my thoughts are understood, and misunderstood;
where the beautiful night covers me; yes, I do believe she understands me.

The night seems to be the mistress to my emptiness.