I’ve waited. All I know is that, I’ve waited. I found my lonely soul sitting on the park bench where he left, holding onto the slightest hope, wishing at the stars every night, wearing the same old clothes, staring at the pitch black sky, counting and counting, wanting the hurricanes to take me somewhere, plucking the petals of fragile roses and singing the same old songs—our favorite songs. I’ve waited. All I know is that I’ve waited.
No. I found myself—still waiting.