Coffee in the morning

Early Spring.
 I ask the Book of Answers
 Should I give up hope?
 „Act as though it’s already real.”

 I could be asking the wrong question,
 needs to be paraphrased,
 I know.
 But, how do I not doubt?

Waiting is exhausting.

I don't sleep.

Should I trust my intuition?
 I get no answer.
 „Don't ask anymore at this point“
 I hate the necessity of patience,
 but I find joy in my solitude.
 It has sort of become a secret ritual
 of mine
 to wait.
I've been counting days, hours, minutes in the process
of waiting,
 but not the seconds.
 I'm not desperate enough for seconds.
 Not  yet.

It's 3 A.M. and I wait
 I check every hour,
 make sure it's breathing
 'cause it's not forgotten
 so I look for signs
 of life.
I don't sleep.
 I don't want to miss a new morning.
He wakes up early
And in my head I follow him,
 I observe as he shaves and drinks his first coffee.
 I drink mine too.
 He doesn't know that I wait
 I don't tell it
 but I do
 I wait,
Immersed in self.

In my head everything is
 so nice,
how do I stop acting as if it is real?

(The above picture is of me, taken in early Spring 2011)
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