Through storms and shifting tides,
my loyalty has remained
steadfast as the first month,
unbroken by the tenth,
a constant in the theater of uncertainty.
Even in sleep,
where the mind conspires in whispers and illusions,
I am bound.
No lips but yours.
No gaze but those bright, brown eyes -
the very eyes that undo me,
every time.
You’ve shut the door, yes,
but you’ve not turned the key.
And for that, I wait.
I wait with patience,
with reverence,
and with the quiet dignity of a man
who understands that timing is a cruel,
yet necessary, conspirator.
Do not carry guilt.
The world has toppled its weight upon you,
and I pray, with all the fervor I possess,
that you rise from beneath it
before the earth decides to press harder still.
Until then, I remain.
Waiting.
And when you return,
I shall greet you with the trembling joy of a boy
on his first date,
marveling at the impossible fortune
of sitting across from you once again.