waiting

This window is a wall.

I wait behind.

wondering without aim,

where one might find him,

what I imagine he is.

I've spent my life wagering,

constantly pondering,

from my window.

will he walk with purpose?

will he weep with me when the lights dim?

when the moon wanes,

will he carry me to new heights?

unbeknownst to me tonight,

when I stare out this window,

I wonder,

Who will he be?

when he sweeps me up,

will he wake my sleeping heart?

will he wear his heart for me to grab?

will we grow old,

with white hair spilling from our ears?

his whiskers rubbing my skin.

will his eyes crinkle when he finds joy?

does he wonder about me?

what warmth I harbor.

The waves of colors I weave.

Does he want the things I want?

well, I can only wait,

for my window to meet his gaze,

for him to look up and realize,

our worlds were weeding out others.

for these waters.

for years working on us.

years wading through high tides,

we could soar as if we had wings,

or war together over silly things.

so I'll be waiting by my window, my wall

whispering things into the night,

beckoning him this way with all my might.