She waits for what will never come
across the void
her heart calling out, in silence,
because her voice cannot be heard
across the void.
On the other side of the chasm,
expecting her to make the first move
because she’s wrong
because she always does
because he knows how it hurts
because he doesn’t care.
Pain and heartache cannot be translated
they echo within the void
never crossing the chasm, ricocheting
back to their source.
She cries as she waits. He waits as she cries. Holding out
she waits for something that will never come.
Holding out he can never know the scream
of silence within this chasm that
she just can’t find her way across.