As I await the moment to embrace her, my patience has become weary, for I lone to see her face to face. Time becomes timeless, worthless to me because she has yet to become of me. Afraid that this may be a figment of my imagination, I dream of knowing that some dreams may come true. She beholds my attention, and reverence my compassion, I draw near and nearer to her until I can hold her captive, not against her will, but willing she surrenders. Hoping she forsake me not, I diligently subject myself to be her purpose, hoping she fulfill me. Afraid to love I know she is, resisting opportunity, to keep from hurting again. Guarding herself from pain, turning her back on agony. But I hope she turn to face me and see not a usual , but her dream. I ask nothing of her, only that she let me in, not into her heart but into her world, not to fall in love with me but to appreciate me, not to be her one but her desire, not to be there to just hug her, but hold her to let her know I’m there.
But I still await.