Not pacing.
Not counting the hours.
Just staying awake
in that quiet way
where hope doesn’t make noise.
Waiting like you wait for a light to turn on
in a room you know by heart.
Waiting because some part of me believed
you’d come back to this moment,
to this breath,
to me saying it out loud.
I’ve been waiting all night—
not because I had nothing else,
but because this mattered.
Through the Fog 