What is this Love you always write about?
The closest thing
I have only ever known to it is Pain.
I think Love has been far too busy,
perhaps caught up in foreign love affairs,
to pay attention to my awaiting Heart.

But I don't want my Heart to feel left out,
so instead, I fill its rooms up
with different guests.
I try to keep guests like
Melancholy and Nostalgia
for as short as possible,
Their heavy weight makes my
Heart rather unbearable,
and overbearing.

My favorite guest,
Serendipity,
makes her occasional and
unpredictable
visits;
and always brings along
Adventure, Luck
and Surprise.
It's easy to know when
She's here,
Because she leaves
A bright light in
my eyes,
And a broad smile
upon my lips.

I believe that Hope has been staying
in one of my rooms
for quite a long time now,
As has Patience and Dignity,
But they seem eager to leave,
and whenever they attempt to,
I find myself begging them to stay,
Explaining that my Heart needs them,
And reassuring them that,
Upon his arrival,
Love would indeed
be a perfect match for
Each one of them.

I wonder if they know that
I'm tricking them.

Time permits it
sometimes.