I think sometimes I just like to dream of visions where you come knocking at my door when I least expect it, just to soothe myself here in this moment.
Its very difficult to face that I am alone. Here in this house, in this room. All by myself and all alone. Where did everyone go?
All my friends are far away, scattered. All my lovers never speak to me. All becomes such a commonplace word when it means – everything but you.
New people don’t trust me, old people forget. Stuck somewhere in between their priorities is a pity stop and I am it. Someone, throw me a bone, I’ll take it.
I wonder who it will be at the door. Maybe you with the tall frame and brown eyes, smiling sheepishly for having left at all. Maybe it will be you, the unkempt hair and the lazy face, visibly uncomfortable about making it.
Maybe it will be you, with those square glasses I will never forget. Maybe it will be you, with a loud greeting and a giant hug, to tell me how much you missed me.
Maybe it will be you, the quiet worker, finally taking some time off to see me wondering how I am. Maybe it will be you, the excitable thing asking me where the party is at.
Maybe it will be you. You who came to tell me you love me and you will never leave.
Maybe there will be someone there to fill me with hope, asking them to trust me, promising me their faith and letting everything else go.
I think I like to dream because it keeps me fantasizing about a life I can not have. Because I sit here daily looking at the door. Then I turn out the lights and sleep. I know nobody is coming.