Waiting

I'm waiting for you.

We haven't seen each other much at all, but I know you're on your way.

I met you once in the late night reassurance of a friend, during a lonely time. You dodged in and out of mind, stroked my arm as i reached for another cookie, said the right words at the right times.

You left that night, but I heard you on the radio. You whispered through the tune of that new song I love, reminded me. Soothed my ears with your melody. I knew I'd see you again.

I spoke, and recognized your intellect in the words of a stranger, identified your wit and your humor in the mischevious grin of a child.

I breathed your air on a mountaintop, far from people, voices, crowds, smog. It was a crisp awakening, and in it I saw you once more, opening your eyes next to me with a smile.

You cared gently for my cat the time it swallowed that string, and cradled me in flourescent orange plastic as I sat in the waiting room, needing to hear that he was alright.

You laughed over the beep of my home security system as I set it at night, reminding, cajoling, insisting you'd protect me.

And I was comforted.

I'm waiting for you. I don't know your name, I don't know how tall you are. I don't know if you've ever cared for a cat, or what your favorite color is. But I love you. And I know you're coming as fast as you can. And I'm waiting for you.