the vigils i’ve kept by your door
may only be silent prayers
to keep you here, make you stay here.
for you never know
and most probably i don’t too,
and nobody really does anyway
because the weavings of fate are complex
that prediction would prove useless.
and grasping your presence
likens to holding water in one’s hand,
it’s all pretty logical, realistic,
but still i refuse to believe.
because you see, i’ve become a dreamer,
one that i had scorned not too long ago,
hoping against hope my prayers be heard
when the air around me keeps screaming “no!”…
but i don’t know, i don’t know…
and you and anybody can’t really say
if my silent pleadings make their way to you,
if illogically, unrealistically you will stay.