There are a thousand small distractions, each one taking me moment to moment.

Dishes to be washed, children to be fed.

Yet always……

in the farthest region of my heart ….

is a longing, a smoldering fire waiting to be sparked back into flame.

I wait….

aching for your return….

a brush of your hand on my face….

or a whisper in my ear.

I seek distraction again to ease the pain of waiting…

waiting…..

waiting.