habitual breeze reminds me of home,
a memory stolen, replaced,
though nothing really fits in,
the effort still makes me smile.
No pride from the day to day,
the will long ago forgotten,
and as the day continues to expire,
renewal is stubbornly ignored.
It used to be the idea
of knowing she will be waiting,
now its only the fear,
and the memory tomorrow will bring.
Two long years to go,
locked in a stream of surface value,
whose to know, if any of me will remain,
when she finally comes around...
Though I believe that hope,
the hope of a better day to come,
is better left to its own ideas,
Hope hasnt a thing to do with heart,
and deep inside me lies a strength,
it's waiting until the time is right,
and in all their faces, I can see it now,
the respect I've always long for
it's simply a word away,
a question out of reach,
a move unprepared for,
wait, and I will make believers of them all,
be patient, for she wont come to love me,
in the end, she'll have known it all along.
One day. It's coming soon.