I'm tired, excited, unsure of you
and how you feel.
It's winter outside, I can guess
'cause of snow-covered dead grass and
ice-adorned tree limbs,
and it's cold and dark
but I'm waiting for you.
My ears, wind-stung and ringing,
listen out for your response.
Now my toes are numb.
I'm hanging onto the bars of the balcony,
leaning,
looking, and
liking what I see,
wondering how it'd feel to jump twice in one night.
The incandescent campus lamps
are small from here and
turn into fire flies
and they reflect their orangey glows
on the slightly-thickening snow
when one small frost flake lands on my nose.
Still, it's cold and dark,
but I'm waiting.
Now I hear your call and I read your words
and these last eight minutes have changed my world --
this time, I don't need to wish
on a set of four numbers,
'cause I got what I wanted
when I first leaped for you.
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