Love and Beauty

I Wait

 Waiting, I write by the window:

It's closer to you,

So I don't mind the cool breeze

Blowing on my neck like a whisper.

I pretend the whisper is you,

And soon

I start to believe that it is.

The room is quiet; yet,

At the same time,

Louder than it's ever been:

The clock ticks and tocks and talks,

Telling me of the seconds you're not here.

The air slaps my face like a cold hand

—But I keep on,

For you.

Then, there's nothing but the thoughts in my head.

Though,

They only go to the percussion of my pen.

For if this pen were to stop—

So do the thoughts,

And unbearable truths

Rummage ahead.