Thursday, September 3, 2009
Waiting For My Boy to Come Back
These past few days I feel, have been suspended in time. The air seems too thick to breathe. Waiting ,waiting, waiting. Waiting for a steadiness, waiting for a straightening of what has been rendered crooked, waiting for bits of angry inflammation to subside, waiting for strength to return. And I am holding my breath, fearful that none of what I am waiting for will return. I look into eyes so soulfully deep, so trusting and bewildered, I smooth a coat always softer than a baby's cheek, I hold up what was once so sturdy, what has held me up more times than I care to remember, that is now so frail and fragile.
Waiting is work: it saps one's will, it drains one's strength, it weakens one's spirit, leaving a hollowness bereft of hope. And yet those same soulful eyes look into mine and say it's OK, don't cry, I'm here now. I am lying right beside you where I have always been. Believe in me.
I want to, it's the waiting that I can not abide.