I am stuck, frozen,
On the cusp of something great.
Sometimes When I close my eyes,
I can almost see her.
She has no name,
No face or voice that I can perceive.
Just long flowing locks of golden hair.
Other times, in that place between
Wakefulness and slumber,
I reach out.
I can almost touch her.
I long to touch her.
But always, she is just out of grasp.
The gap between us grows,
A chasm in my soul without end.
Alone I wait,
Daring to hope a fool’s hope.
Knowing all the while,
What I desire will not be.