The Wait

it’s saturday evening

I lie huddled in my blanket

watch the raindrops

beat against my windowpanes

enjoy the sweet sound of solace

but somewhere around

there is a constant hum

a sort of whisper

a pleading that goes on

to get up, escape

to lose myself in the madness

that’s this city

quiet but not still

the air around is pregnant

with urgency

to pick the phone

to ask a certain someone

what are their plans

heart begs but the mind denies

thinking he thinks of you too

is a fool’s desire

look at you, I say

feeling miserable

but the heart doesn’t care

just this once, it says

it has stopped raining

nippy is the air

I pick up the phone

Care for a coffee? I send

It’s dancing already

reminds me what I should wear

and how later

pretentions can help

‘That’s not how it works’ I reply

‘Sure, it does. Let me show you how.’

the banter goes on for hours

exhausted, I doze off

half the night is gone

the heart’s silent now

‘Want some coffee?’

the poor chap nods

I set up the Frenchpress

feeling sorry for its hopes

the coffee I brew is extra dark

to wash off the bitterness

the yearnings had left

to end the evening

and finally, the wait