It’s the absence of hurt (right now)
where perhaps there should be some,
that in sitting down and ticking on
the simplicities glow neon
- I can accept that I must wait
- and too that waiting may be in vain.
My chair is static,
my knees tucked in,
my belly full,
the room quiet and dull.
In the absence of any sound,
my voice whispers to my heart;
wait and see
the illusion that she may fit you perfectly
may not be a trick of the light
The calm protects it with steel
and with a seal, it’s locked, for now.