Good Things Are Coming Soon

Escaping out the window,

I rest on the roof,

chirping like a little bird,

soaking up the sweetness of the sun.

I write a love song with the harmonising wind,

keeping a fragment of your voice inside my inner monologue,

for those moments when my body feels like it can’t survive another day without being held.

I can survive,

but I won’t be happy about it.

I still find things to smile about,

the thought of the first smiles we’ll exchange,


a long kiss,

after interrupted months,

where I held you,

only in my dreams.


Good things are coming soon.

I tell myself that every time the time of day dictates I should wake,

and the world starts running, without me.

I catch up,


knowing that good things are coming soon,

but until then,

my only peace is when I write under the moon,

on the tiny bit of roof that I can escape to,

through the window of my bedroom.

I tell the moon that good things are coming,

and she tells me that she can’t wait.

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