I wait, though I hold no faith in arrival.
I remain where I am, yet I have never once been still.
Day and night I stand,
and sleep forgets the road to my eyes.
For her, I cross mountains
and bore through the depths of oceans.
They took my muse from my hands,
and I became a watcher of her path.
Then they returned her to my palms,
and my muse became her wrath.
Her death was my breath; I was filled with life.
That same breath became my death; I was overtaken by demise.
I wait for her to come, though I no longer know who I wait for.
I wait for it to happen, though I have no idea what it might be.
Waiting has worn itself into my heart; loss is my blood.
I wait for the one who never waited; I look for the one who never looked.
I obtained only the unpossessable; the void has embraced me.
So much so that, if she arrived,
I would only wait for her to depart.
― Atrona Grizel