The Waiting

Long stretches of time lead us to September.

A year passed.

‘Cross country we’ve traveled.

Suitcase in hand.

Looking for paradise, utopian ideas, hold on to youth.

She was ’round the corner.

Felt her touch, her breathe.

Autumn’s hair waved in the wind.

Asking questions like school boys do.

The curiousness that leads us to winter.

Oaks and maples lay bare.

She no longer laughed.

And I, I stand amazed.

A new king awaits.

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