Waiting, always, as I always have,
Once the suggestion floats across my mind,
Now it takes shape,
Becomes a hunger, a purpose,
To keep my heart busy,
So I replace my loneliness,
With the chance of its end,
A hollow promise to myself
That only she can fulfill,
But she will, I tell myself,
As I sit here and wait,
Wait for that clock to climb the second half of its face,
And to fall again into evening,
And into talking for hours
Along pointless tangents but still
With purpose: Another step, another moment.
Another smile, another laugh across her lips.