Ever had this person in your life who leaves you waiting in the cold, foolish and freezing?
Waiting
Have you ever stood in the cold,
pacing before a welcoming,
grand door,
a small,
blurry window at its center?
Have you ever wondered,
desperately,
what lies beyond?
Your hope,
like a steady flame—
quiet,
resilient,
and strong—
keeps you warm,
keeps you going.
Knock, knock, knock.
A warm,
muffled voice calls back.
You peer through the window,
catching the outlines of a world,
so colorful,
so dreamy:
Happiness,
a cozy home,
warmth,
acceptance,
shelter.
You twist the handle,
but it’s stuck.
Knock, knock, knock again.
Louder.
Stronger.
More determined.
You pace,
and pace,
and pace.
The clock has lost its track of time.
The cold nudges you
from this delirium,
its icy fingers carving out
the cold, hard facts.
Your hope erupts into
a screaming flame,
suddenly aware
it may soon flicker
into a half-forgotten prayer.
Sometimes,
that voice reappears,
closer than before,
just like that,
just for the sport,
with the sweet lure of an Austen.
Visions through the window brighten—
warmer,
dreamier,
nearly within reach.
Your hope lets out
a breathless,
little spark.
Ah, you tell yourself:
“Just one more time.”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Damn it,
the cursed handle won’t budge,
the voice
slowly,
surely,
steadily
fading away.
Like a twisted,
sickening,
toxic merry-go-round,
you go round,
and round,
and round,
only to find yourself
back in the beginning...
Until one day,
when your faded hope,
meets the cold
as it’s slicing through your numbness.
Finally.
Something shifts.
You feel fresh,
aware,
wide awake.
The spark reignites
into a steady flame,
warms you up,
and leads you far,
far,
far away.
