One day I hope.
I'll be walking through the park in early Spring
in a big coat, scuffing frost.
I don't know who you are yet.
You are faceless as the wind and
formless as a passing thought.
But I know you will be waiting on a bench
for me.
And I will sit beside you,
On this bench,
in the park.
And we will be holding hands,
content.
Because one day I woud like,
the type of happiness
that come from
sitting still inside of madness,
and having someone to enjoy it with.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
One day I hope.
I'll be walking through the park in early Spring
in a big coat, scuffing frost.
I don't know who you are yet.
You are faceless as the wind and
formless as a passing thought.
But I know you will be waiting on a bench
for me.
And I will sit beside you,
On this bench,
in the park.
And we will be holding hands,
content.
Because one day I woud like,
the type of happiness
that come from
sitting still inside of madness,
and having someone to enjoy it with.
2012.
Request permission to use this poem