In the Raw

I don't know what to call this feeling in my chest. It tightens like longing and burns like lust, swelling and roaring out of my mouth like rage. There is a wanting and a sadness and a keening echoing over anger as powerless hands seek to grasp something far out of their reach. Sweet and tender moments imagined in fits of contented sighs are tossed about on a dark sea and sunk as reality pokes holes in the hull of my ship. Would that I had the power to make these things real, to birth things of substance from the wisps of dreams, but the fragile creatures die and fall heavily into the void with the weight of 'how' and 'why'.

I only know how to wait. I sit in the dark before this window and wait. Until opportunity blooms, until the time is right. Minutes and moments slip by as a I soundlessly wait, a timid predator in the grass. Each one laughing in its small voice as my muscles atrophy and anticipation mixes with regret and doubt. And I hope that I haven't missed the right one.