The Steffiverse

When inspiration strikes, it grips you like a vise. You can't do anything but sit down and obey the compulsion to put pen to paper. This is the end result.

Waiting
I sit here waiting.
For the phone to ring.
For the AIM icon to hop.
I sit here waiting.

I sit here thinking.
Wondering why I’m waiting.
Knowing it’s all in vain.
Yet still hoping.
Desperation even calls for praying.

I sit here waiting.
For a sign, a gesture.
Any signal of hope.
I sit here waiting.

I sit here thinking.
About the night you kissed me.
The utopia we shared.
One night of paradise.
And I was yours—that was that.

I sit here waiting.
You’re tearing my heart to shreds.
Not calling. Not talking.
Am I even still a friend?

I sit here thinking.
That I might actually love you.
But what the fuck is this supposed to mean?
You can’t leave me hanging.
I’m not some time machine.

Waiting.
Knowing.
Thinking.

Hoping.
Praying.
Transmitting.

Are you even thinking of me?
Goddammit can’t you see.
Your ambivalence is torturing me.
Just tell me yes.
Or tell me no.
Either way I await an answer.
Thinking about you.