4/6/4
by beighartman
Bright strands of light
Piercing through the window
Warm against my skin
the days have turned into weeks
and still the call hasn’t come,
leaving us in limbo
with only unanswered questions
of who, where, when, how,
why won’t this change!
and so the waiting
turns into pacing,
and the pacing
turns into gnawing,
all of which i hide from you
putting on a strong face,
and never realizing that
you don’t need my strength,
only my trust.
