When the room is quiet and the floor is cold,
And the "someday" stories feel tired and old
I look at the shadow beside my feet
And wonder where our timelines meet.
I’m down in the dark, at the end of my rope,
Tired of the weight of a distant hope.
I don’t need a legend, or a destiny plea,
I just need to know: Who is out there for me?
Are you looking at the same moon tonight,
Tired of the wait, and losing the light?
I’m calling out softly, from the bottom of the fall,
To the one who will make sense of it all.