for as long as
I can remember,
waiting was
and still is a part
of me.
I was always
the girl who
waits
.
for the day to
become night
.
for the dusk to
turn to dawn
.
for the salty
water that
trickles down
my cheeks to
dry
.
for the endless
throbbing pain
to stop
.
for the only one
who means the
world to me,
and who deep
down I know
will never come
to walk through
the door
.
and even if it
was unbearable
sometimes,
waiting was
accompanied by
a prize, for in
the end, the
ray of hope
always breaks
through the dark,
almost like how
a rainbow would
paint the sky
after a storm.
but this certainly
wasn't the case
with him, for each
night no matter
how much I wait
the exasperating
tick tocks of the
clock were the
only sound that
puts me to sleep,
just to wake up
in the morning
and find the
other side of
the bed empty.
just to spend
the whole day
sitting on the
porch, while
sipping my
coffee, and
watching the
lonely sun sink
in its own
magma.
.
they say that
letting go is
hard, but
having nothing
to hold on to is
even harder.
YOU ARE READING
Dried petals
Poetry"and I find myself tucking your smile in the space that lies between every letter .for babe , if I can't keep you by my side ,then I'll lock you in each poem these hands write down ."_Aya Highest rank #43 in poetry on 23/7/2017 .
