It's 4:30 AM on a Sunday and I'm looking out the window into the rain waiting to see your feet disrupt the puddles on the sidewalk, instead of a stranger's. You are wearing the boots I gave you in that dream you had. I don't know what they look like. You told me I'd know them when I saw them, but I worry that I won't and that you'll be lost forever due to my self-doubt and second-guessing. Twice now I have answered the door, thinking it was you. I suppose my patience is wearing thin.
please, hurry home.
No comments:
Post a Comment