on the brink of night
waiting, eyes open.
nothing in me is still
but nothing outside moves
hours of staring at lightless window
wasting time thinking about
the wrong person.
A glimpse of the moon
parted by leaves
outside my window
reminds me of how alone I am.
Always the one standing at the passageway
under the busy road
wasting time thinking about
the wrong
person,
I.
loneliness; a feeling or a friend? I couldn't see the difference anymore