QUIET WAITING

 

In the Quiet of WaitingWasting time,
Pacifying the slow drag of hours,
I linger in the shallow pools of wait.
Superficial conversations spill,
Words tumbling like loose change,
Meaningless, yet heavy with pretense.
Pizza crusts pile on paper plates,
Cheap beer fizzes, flat and fleeting,
All distractions, thin as gossamer,
Smoke and mirrors woven tight,
Veiling the ache that hums beneath—
The unspoken urge to brush my fingers
Against the soft arch of your feet,
Hidden beneath the table’s edge,
A secret shared in silent glances. I am aware, acutely,
Of the want that stitches itself into my thoughts.
I imagine you draped in my old soccer jerseys,
Faded cotton clinging to your frame,
The number 7 stretched across your back,
A quiet claim, a tender theft.
Each imagined thread binds me closer,
To the vision of you, laughing,
Your hair catching the late afternoon light,
A glow that makes the world feel small,
As if nothing exists beyond your orbit. The hours, stubborn, hold everything but you.
They brim with preoccupation,
A restless dance of tasks and trivialities,
Each one a placeholder for your absence.
I anticipate your letters,
Long and sprawling, inked with care,
Your handwriting looping like a private song.
I see myself unfolding each page,
Reading, then re-reading,
Tracing the curves of your words
To fill the gaps of our separation.
Each sentence a tether, pulling me
Through the quiet stretches of distance,
Until your voice feels close enough to touch. Relieved, I shed the need for pretense,
No explanations to carve, no lies to shape.
This magnetic pull, this continued closeness,
Needs no justification, no defense.
It is a heat that burns steady,
More than enough to ignite me,
A flame that doesn’t flicker,
Even in the vastness of your absence.
I am alight with it,
With the thought of you,
With the certainty of us,
A spark that holds, unyielding,
Against the weight of wasted time.