waiting

It's a day

just like another and any other

swept by the construct of days

i hadn't spent in a bed or

walking through some parking lot.

Trying to tell

is like brightness trying to speak

or the tumble of twinkling stars

watching the reaction and reacting

saddened by the thought.

But it's not like, hope is lost!

Or the good things aren't there -

it just, stings kinda.

The weight of a world left behind

by the weight it found.

And i walk and i see

the emotion just, gone.

Not never there,

but replaced by a will

seeded in awry vices:

you follow the best feelings

you hope your heart is right,

you hope and win and lose,

and hope it isn't hurting

but know it has to.

writing this,

i find i worry it's too sad.

or depressing.

i believe in the good stuff -

the kind worth writing for,

but in those moments between

where the world is waiting

i watch and wonder why

it had to wait at all

instead of loving who it was.