Nor the way of the walk.
It's the presence.
Her and she, they have the presence.
Phone calls frequent, vocal chords more.
Turning, I try to watch the birds flying as
An airplane banks against the blue sky
Returning from Lost.
Waiting and waiting, the game keeps on.
Daring to win, I push on further.
Surviving is not thriving, as I sense their eyes
Feeling sorry, wondering at strength
They believe I hold.
Would they laugh, if they knew?
Would they cry, if they walked my mile?