i waited last night,
for those words to come,
pretending, ofcourse,
that i didn't care.
fiddling with my papers,
running my fingers
along the rim of my glass,
tracing drops of water
that melted in the heat-
losing hope slowly,
trickling away in patterns
along the aging wooden
table.

i wait still,
with your answers in my head
playing on repeat, like some old song
that harped on everywhere,
though a squeak in my head
tells me they're gone, now,
those words,
and only silence lingers
in waking sunshine
that slips through my fingers
and into
space.