It is too cold to be standing out here.
(It’s too cold for this perpetual state
of needing you.)
There is too much for me to mull over in silence;
too much for my drowsy mind to ponder
and wander around.
My feet hurt.
I have been rocking on my heels
for what seems like hours.
Has it been only ten minutes?
What time is it?
I’ve forgotten my watch,
but I remember my worry,
The sun is rising,
and I have always loved sunrises,
so maybe being out here
won’t be as bad as I thought.
(But I am still waiting.)
Waiting can be as tiring
as standing around,
looking at nothing,
because sometimes they are the same thing.
I am looking at something.
(I thought I was.)
I came here with the notion that
you wanted to see me;
that you were not just a memory,
a long-dead flame
I am trying to rekindle.
It is still cold out, so I shiver
and pull my sweater tighter
around my arms that used to open up to yours.
But I don’t want to think about that, now.
Inspired by Desertedroad’s post, found here.