The stars are always pinpointed Against their dark blanket of sky - As constant as the pool of patience She always finds herself drowning in. Waiting. The days seem to linger like a long spiraling staircase you thought would end Fifteen flights ago - But you're sure that when you reach the top and step onto the balcony, you'll be greeted with a stunning vista - and you'll know the strenuous trek was worth it. But it won't be discernible until every blister is calloused, until every muscle has ached, until every labored breath has been released into the uncaring sky. Until every second lurches - towards an unforeseen time that seems completely off the watch. She isn't a patron of time because time is wind- Wind erodes, disintegrates, deteriorates, and plunders.
There is a photograph of him and her pinned To a plaster wall that was painted dark blue - The photo flutters against the pressure of time, but it is not threatened. He is constant - a tangible, absolute gravity That pulled her into his orbit. In that safe harbor, the wind cannot lash at their hearts Despite the geographical distance between them. The infinite Universe pays no homage to time, But it does respect gravity, orbits, inertia, and Love. The forces that keep the stars from falling out of the sky.