Waiting for nothing. It did not bother me. There’s a softness in solitude, because you know that it will not surprise you. It does not fall on you, but settles inextricably next to you, as a loyal friend.
It felt good. Not the pain. But the fact that I felt something.
Waiting for him. It broke my heart. I often stared out the window and begged the stars to guide him to me.
But he was not the kind of guy that ever looked up at the sky.
He was familiar with the gutter.
Waiting for you.
It is a poetic silence. I need to find ways to lure, not words the loss brings you again and again in my arms. It is beautiful, like you, waiting.
Because I know that you are my future.