I sit on this couch,
Eyes closed.
Listening to a song about unrequited love.
Thinking of What Might Be.
Reaching for the memory of your laughter.
That laughter.
Calming as birds chirping on the crack of dawn.
More beautiful than any song ever sung!

Slowly…
I open them.
And you’re not here.
I’m still not yours, or you mine.
So I stand and wait,
Holding onto that memory of your laughter,
To keep me company while I wait.
While I stand hopeful,
That What Might Be,
Will be.