Hunger
Aches
In the bottom of my stomach,
And I'm cold sitting here
Under a fan
With a sweatshirt on
And shorts.
I could move,
But there aren't a lot of places
To be.

And I'm slightly dizzy
Because the hunger is stronger than I thought,
And wow at least I'm hungry,
But it's a different type than I remember.

Hunger isn't so bad,
No, it is not as bad as I remember
Sitting in the cold of winter
Wondering if maybe the next day
Will bring shelter and food.

And I think and close my eyes
And suddenly I'm still cold and hungry,
But it's not cold as in I have ice in my veins,
Rather a lack of heat
That being I crave heat,
And my hunger isn't exactly for food,
Rather for the growling to stop
And maybe hunger of the eyes is a thing,
Because I want to see your eyes light up
Which they do from time to time,
And I want to see you laugh and smile and hear your voice
And oh my God,
The anticipation is killing me
But it's a-okay
I promise,
Because I love having my hand held in yours
And I'd (im)patiently wait lifetimes
To feel our fingers interlock
If I had to.

Not to be a cliche, defined as
cli·ché:
A stereotype that is overused and displays a lack of thought,
But Bluebird,
If flying with you isn't where I'm supposed to be
Then I am so happy to be lost.

(I will hold you in my heart
And keep you warm there,
If you return the favor.)