Always waiting, never stirring

until it becomes some sort of ecstasy

never failing to reach a peak 

that runs as deep as the Pacific

or as high as the Everest

Waiting in the wings, an unwavering affair

constantly on edge, desire for that star spot

to shine centrestage with seraphic serenity reprising 

the role of Fatine in Les Misérables

But alas! –– that could only happen in the wildest, most absurd fantasies

Then, a surge of pining, abiding yearning

washed over the thin shoreline of perpetual doubt

Fingers anxiously raised above the keyboard

then descended into feverish drumming

Would an email, a notification, a text –– anything, come through?

Periodically they surface, and the wholesome fragment of you

endures, never disintegrating

but grappling to materialise in the mind’s eye

Yet, a small step of anticipation leads 

to colossal, stony desolation

leaving no alternative but to search for an immediate crash-landing 

This waiting reaches no epilogue, no closed chapter.

And so, eternally I shall continue