You spend time, years, months and days

pining for it, hoping for it. Hopelessly.

When you last thought you had it in hand,

and it slipped away, tearing out a hole in you

as it fled into the clear, crisp light of day. Away.

You dreamed about it on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays

and on every day sandwiching them. Night.

When you think about how your chest split open

when it last kicked you in your heart,

and how you swore never again

but yet…

you spend time, months, years, days, weeks

and hours now,

pining for it.

Yearning for that sweet caress,

that lingering intense look,

the one that makes your heart rock,

and causes the spot where your chest split open before

to throb gently. Warmly.

You hunger for that feeling of

being somebody’s human,

somebody’s home,

somebody’s hearth.

Because with this hope and yearning,

despite the previous heart aches and pains,

you still believe in it.

In rainbows when your love laughs,

in blazing brilliance when your love smiles at you,

and, that bliss, when they hold your hand,

or drape their arms around you,

erases the scratch marks and scars from the hell fire

you walked through to get here.

And on a clear, crisp day,

you tell them you love them.

They say it back.

And they mean it.

And they stay.