Waiting

You wait for the beep of thrill, the tone of desire, the reminder of hope. Your fingers tingle. They feel like they are delicate, shaking. They aren't. But they seem they are, the frisson of excitement has them bound; the tingle of memory and expectation courses through you.

The little sound will not be for you. Indeed, none of this is for you. Yet you want it to be. You want to be part of it. How easy it is, to see what you desire looming in front of you... while it hesitantly hovers for another.

Hope, though, is a strange thing. Enticing and powerful and exhilirating and fickle. Utterly deceptive.

Or is it just you? Just you being gullible? Choosing the transient buzz of possibility over the cool silence of improbability?

Yes, silence is all there is.