The arrival

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You feel something, and so do I.
It's out there, but you can't tell what it is or where it is.

I'm not sick, neither are you,
but we're not okay either,
it's just that waiting drives me crazy.
Because that's what it's all about: we're waiting for something
that we don't even know what it is,
or when it's going to come,
or if we'll even notice when it happens.

You're in the waiting room
for something that hasn't arrived yet; it's waiting for the end of something or the beginning of something.

But still, something inside me
tells me that when that happens,
I'll understand everything. We'll understand everything.

When it comes,
it'll be okay. You are my life, and I am time.