her lonely silhouette, beneath that dim lite
pacing back and forth, counting cracks
I wonder what she's thinking, or waiting for

I can feel her glances, yet her pace unbroken
shall I step from my perch, offer what I can
no, I shall keep my distance, as her pace quickens

will my whisper thoughts reach her through thicken fog
as her shadows recede, passing in front of indented doors
why, I ask, my obsession of her, perhaps I see a rerun of me

the loneliness of despair, can be relentless
one's failure of being, tormenting
mistakes and accomplishment, neutralize the heart
the strength of one's soul, defines us
even in the dense fog of one's mind