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I stop somewhere waiting for you.
Orange leaves blow past my ankles,
involved in their own dance number,
unaware of my presence.
I watch as they tumble against each other,
in seemingly choreographed synchronicity.
They twirl and sway, spur of the moment,
as if they had practiced a thousand times.
I follow them with my eyes, watching
As the wind carries them away,
my mind drifts to you
it always does.
I stand here, waiting for you,
as I have done a million times before
and yet this is different, i can feel it
You’re not coming, are you?
I glance down the road,
into the vast autumnal sea, coloured
in warm shades of orange and yellow,
not even expecting to see you there.
The trees stand waiting with me, for I am
their only companion aside from each other,
and the wind that often threatens
to rip the leaves from their branches.
You’re never coming.
I know this, and yet
I stand here among the trees,
waiting for you.
I feel as if the wind, the same wind
that plucks leaves from the trees
would throw me into the air
and carry me away forever.
Just as I had forgotten about you,
a figure approaches on my road,
the trees sway in response,
and I hope again.
This time, the hope is that
this figure, becoming clearer,
is not you. I don’t want you.
It’s too late for you now.
My prayer is graciously answered.
He is not you, he is just a passerby.
just a stranger with a guitar on his back,
whistling in time with his strides
a friendly smile creeps across my face,
merely a habit I’ve trained myself into,
smiling when I don’t feel like smiling.
my eyes wander back to the dirt road.
I suddenly feel the urge to follow
the stranger whose footprints are before me
before I know what’s happening,
My feet are carrying me to him
I’ve left my spot, waiting there for you
If you ever arrived, I don’t know.
I might not ever know.
I don’t particularly care.