"Can't go home alone again, need someone to numb the pain"

I'm walking down this street, I know it way too good. The first bruises on my knees were made by kissing this pavement and I flew the first three feet with my bike on this road. Even though I never was a fan of any games that involved balls and/or running, I gladly did both on this very street. And I was happy, satisfied. Full of joy. Nevertheless if I was alone or had a group of friends to accompany me.
This is the place I always got back to. This is my home.
And now, while I'm freezing and my breath is visible once it gets outta my mouth, while my makeup is a bit messy and my feet tingly, while my headphones are on full blast and the blood in my veins has a visitor scientifically named CH₃CH₂OH, I feel some strange kind of emptiness. Not exactly in my heart, it's not even the one that is often to be found in my soul. But in the air surrounding me. In the sound of silence that I'm surrounded by.
I have returned home in these late hours alone for way too many times.
Like a joke, I always say I want a boyfriend because of the practical reasons: to have someone to buy you chocolate when you need it at 2am, to have someone who'll care your school bag when you've had to bring way too many books to carry, someone on whose jacket you can count on when you forget to wear your own, someone who'll always walk you home so your mom will let you stay out a little more. I guess all of these were the moments when through a joke I said the truth I didn't want to say clearly.
I need someone to guide me through the roads I already know, to watch me while I sleep in a hundered percent safe place, a shadow who'll be there when I'm afraid of harmless shadows.
Even though being a free, loneliness-liking spirit was my thing since I can remember, the time when I'm so full of myself that I'm in a desperate need for someone else has come.
I open the door, walk on the unfinished steps and enter my family home. Then turn left, right into my own warm, dim lighted, cozy heaven. Posters of my all time favorite musicians watch me carefully from the door and the ceiling, kinda sad, because they also know they're now not enough to make me feel loved by men.
I play the songs from that one band, that held that one concert, where I got to feel fireworks from that one person. Then, that one other rock band that that one person remembered me by. I can almost imagine he walked me home and lied down next to me, numbing this black hole that I feel.
And I continue to listen to the songs of the band which has a front man who that one person resembles of. The posters continue to watch me mimicking the face of that one person, when he watched me.
And all of them are fascinating. All of them know what to do.
Oh, but none of them are you.