Waiting

There are windchimes in this desert, 

twirling in a dance, not mine to witness 

you belong in each other's presence, 

I see the way she looks at you,

new to this world, waiting for her. 

"It doesn't make any sense," you said,

back when you knew nothing at all, 

when you did not know her. 

I saw you again, in scorching sun,

your arms moved with hers, 

Do you not see it yet?

I miss the waiting, 

searching for the one you take home, 

I see it in you, 

as you grow restless for her

you forget your place and walk, 

walk to where she is

the glass forbids you:

from dragging her out 

whispering in her ear

"I've missed you, I've missed you."

But it doesn't forbid you

from staying there, 

looking in

seeing her as she speaks 

you wish she wins,

you wish she'd shut up and walk to you,

the wind in my lungs is lost–

she does, she does walk to you. 

For someone I've known only for days, 

your story has me in agony

if I pointed at you at any moment 

I'd point at her too. 

I think you know, 

this is the beginning of the end,

the end of all you have ever known,

the end of every belief you hold. 

Listen to me, 

give in, 

let her take over all you find sane 

abandon your life, 

give it to her, 

in return you will find, 

what awaits every man in love, 

"It all makes sense now."