Hours, waiting
Left at the dock
The water cool as I dip my feet
Pants rolled above my ankles
The sun sets beyond the horizon
As I know he's not coming,
But I try to enjoy the evening anyway.

Each time the note is slipped under my door
The handwriting is different, the phrasing
But the date and place is always the same
So every Friday, this is where I am:
Alone, waiting.

Someone smarter, maybe,
Better in some way
Better for herself, or better for someone else
Might not have found themselves in such a position
For these propositions.
I can't even tell if they're from strangers, or maybe
Just written from myself, and I can't remember

But I hope, anyway,
And I show up
Just in case
There was a reason left
For hoping.