Aching hopes for a comforting hand,

Nearly forgotten memories of a seemingly non-existent past,

Of a time when love

And compassion

And condolence

Was common, was pure, was endured to a point of almost unbearably sweet satisfaction.

I think of beautiful futures

Knowing but trying to ignore the hopelessness of it all.

Stubbornly hoping that what was would be today,

Still here,

Still so very alive.

But then…

I can’t feel the warmth anymore.

I can’t imagine the tenderness there was.

I can’t believe.

And so I sit here,

Looking out into the rain, as precious as my own tears.

I sit here and wait.

For nothing.

Ó Copyright 1998 by Tiff