you're out there. i can feel you sometimes. you know, as if fate ripples like water as we take steps closer and closer to one another. but i'm getting impatient. it's like i can smell you near me but i can't see you.
instead i'm pelted by hailstorms of dead-end flings and misdirected love affairs. it's like a phil collins song: standing out in the rain for hours, or sitting at home waiting for you to call. i just don't know if i can handle the intense pressure of waiting for you to find me and me to find you. i feel weak.
sometimes, when i'm on the train, i wonder if we've ever sat next to each other. perhaps brushed hands as i get on and you get off. when i go to the movies alone, i wonder if you're on the other side of the theatre. i'm always watching, waiting. maybe it was you at the coffee shop? were you the boy at the newspaper kiosk who smiled at me? are you that boy in the nerve profile?
at night, i curl up into a ball in the middle of that queen sized bed, reaching for warmth. my soul weeps tears, my eyes dried a long ago. sometimes, when i close my eyes during those moments, i can remember how warm your skin was next to mine and what you smelled like so long ago, whatever lifetime it was we last had together.
how much longer? have i gotten lost on the road, made a wrong turn? did i say or do the wrong thing to someone who could have brought us a step closer?
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