Waiting

So here I am, waiting. Waiting for her to call, to hear her voice. Waiting to talk, so much to say, life to pour out down the wire, news to spill and secrets to disclose. Longing, waiting. A simple place to be, not arrived until I get the connection, not finished until it's started, and then it's done. Not complete until I've shared, until I've broken the uniqueness of knowing what I know, until I've made it real by repeating it to someone, to her. Waiting for the chance to be heard, and to play the other role, to listen, to hear, to feel her life flowing towards me, ringing in my mind, aching my bones and itching my skin. Waiting. Here I am.

There she is, laughing, smiling, dancing with friends, having the time of her life, in my mind. Thinking of her day, thinking of me? Hearing my need to talk, wanting a shoulder to rest her tired head on, an ear to share her troubles with, wanting me? I wonder if she knows I'm waiting here, knows I'm longing to hear her, knows what's on my mind, beating in my heart, unspoken and barely even thought, floating around in the back of my head, darting out of sight, elusive and powerful, what I'm hoping. There she is.

I've done my bit, said my piece, written my words, sent her a photo of my heart. So now all I can do is wait, and hope, oh how I build up my hopes, elevate all that I am to long to know if she heard me, if she saw between the lines. How my heart jumps each time the phone rings, or an e-mail arrives, is it her reply? Has she understood, how will she answer, what does it matter? Does it matter? Here I am.

Is she there?

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