The birth of anticipation
Seeping on my tongue with misery;
You are the thing I live in most.
I am accustomed to you.

I do not hold back, which makes you difficult to stomach;
But you remind me I am so very alive and well.
That even frustration and sadness can sit on golden chairs,
Placed in the sunlight, waiting to bloom.

My hope is your water and reality your food.
In the days where I wait patiently,
Looking at your delicate pettles,
I remember days past.

In my patience, I assume things.
I assume the worst, fruits of hatred and misfortune;
I assume the best, fruits of the future and acceptance;
But I will never know until you grace me with your presence.

And even if you never come
If you die here in this room with me
While my eyes watch you, steady
I will not regret my time here.