he dreams of me

he dreams of me
he just doesn’t know
when he awakes with longing
it’s for me alone
he thinks of me
a vague aching inside
swelling for reasons
his heart cannot identify
he cries for me
cursing the fates
flipping destiny
while I can only wait

my view at lunchtime

Mondays are so humdrum. I was already wishing for the weekend. Isn’t that terrible?