Waiting On Him

The night is black and thick like a dark heavy quilt is hanging from the sky that extinguishes all light
I lie in my silent, dark room, willing myself to be perfectly still, training my ears, straining to hear every car as it whistles quickly by, one after the other after the other after the other...
Forcing myself to listen for any slight slowdown that might indicate that he's finally home... he said he was coming home...yes, it's really him this time... in an eternity 2 or 3 seconds tick by...and then the car flies by just the same as the others...it's not him...but, wait...is the next car slowing down...
It's a sick, pathetic, weak sad, lonely game, the irony being that each car, that starts off as distant headlights, seemingly suspended from the sky, starting down the hill, could be him, anything is possible until that car whizzes by, to some other destination, to some other woman, waiting silently in the dark for her man to come home
It's a small insignificant feeling, like a speck of dust twirling around aimlessly in the universe
To be thought so little of, a lie is so easy to leave your lips, to not even get the courtesy of a phone call
And sometimes he never came home before dawn shoved its bright rays into my tired weary eyes and I had to face the harsh reality that he didn't care about me at all...
Each of those many cars that went by on those dark endless nights, each took a little bit of my heart with them until I lie bleeding and alone, destroyed inside, devastated by lies and false hope, unable to even get up again...I might as well be dead...waiting on him to come home...

by Lesley St. Marys

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.