Nightingale

A sense of anxiety.
A sense of anticipation.

Every night I'm waiting by my window
Waiting for something.

But what is it I'm waiting for?
I kept on asking myself.
Over and over

No matter how much I asked,
No matter how much I begged my brain,
It won't give me an answer.

But I waited.
Hoping for that answer.

Now,
Time has passed.
Though I've aged,
I'm still immature,
still the teenager I used to be.

I went to the window again
and gazed at the night sky.

A cool breeze blew against my face.
I gave a grin.

These few years have done me good.
My conscience is clear.
Now I know what I've been waiting for.

No matter what,
I'll always be waiting for you.

My Midnight Nightingale