We wait and wait
For something to happen.
And it doesn’t.
It can’t happen
because it’s an abstraction.
Something never happens.
The world spins,
Entropy continues
Everything breaks down,
Ages.
Rusts.
Disintegrates
Mystics and their love.
They die too and with them
Their love.
And all we have is the waiting.
Waiting for the moment,
And when it comes,
Just another moment of waiting.
And even then,
There is no moment.
It won’t stop for us.
Just discrete moments
We can’t experience
Or embrace.
We can use words
To pretend that they exist
But they don’t, not for us.
They’ve already gone.
With more on the way
But never here.
Not your here.
Not my here.
All we have is the waiting.
Quietly. Soft hope for something to arrive.
It won’t.
But the waiting is all we have.
It may not be enough.
Probably.
It isn’t.
And yet still.
Still...
Look.
At Everything.
See.
It’s all just waiting.
It’s all here.
