The Single File

Here's a message for the singleton who refuses to be woebegone:
Although at night on your little bed, beside you lies no-one, no warmth, think about it this way:
It's just like the time when you lay in your cot, swaddled tight.
The only way to look was up, remember?
True, life stretches ahead, legions long, like the horizon from Footsteps On The Sand. (Only one pair of feet.)
If it's there you find yourself, bask in the love of the Bright Morning Son.
It's a bumpy road less travelled, but no-one will throw the first stone (but you).
You're not alone in bed (or should I say, on your cupboard shelf) because of the size of your nose, or the lesions on your skin, or because, in a freudian fit you shouted at the only person who ever loved them both.
This August, don't let all four weddings be a funeral for Hope. Because after your ex left, she's the only one who'll ever love you now.