Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Potato Chips

You must not find comfort in my patients as I wait for you.
Solace would be the wrong way to begin this love affair.
I need you to come swiftly now.
The steadfast grip that I have held is weakening.
The discouragement of your delay has hardened my heart.
I fear my soul may be a crumbled ruin when you arrive.
I may be a callous spinster.
I may find acceptance and deny a moment to intrigue.
I may find comfort in my own habits.
I may then object to your intrusion.
I am beginning to feel defeated.
I am worn by those daring enough to challenge my day.
I doubt your reality at times more often.
I no longer awaken with belief that I may meet you.
No, instead I have become complacent.
I remark to the image in the mirror, "What's the point?"
I have become addicted to saturated fat and sodium.
It is in effort to fill the agony of your void.
I fear my thirst for you is unquenchable.
The excitement of our meeting has become a crude riddle.
The hope that bubbles inside is expended with sarcasm.
This is becoming all too unsatisfying.
This will not continue to sustain my wait.
The time is now my love.
For, we may only be given the ever after.

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