Waiting. For a drink, for a show, for a moment, for the right time. It's the anticipation that I'm waiting for. Zippers and tights, laughter and red wine slipping to the floor; getting ready for the evening is more fun than what we're priming for. The ride took cramped days, unstretched legs. There were bathrooms that made as swear we could hold it and gallons of blackened sugary, caffineated water that promised we couldn't. You fell asleep and I couldn't reach the CD's. Sleepy eyes created flocks of birds on empty freeways. All this and more we endured to get there, yet while the trip remains clear, I can no longer remember the where that was there. The firsts...kiss, move, adventure, love, heartbreak, travel, glimpse, lick and taste, it's the anticipation I recall. I anticipate missing you, later will I rembember your name? Getting there is half the fun they say, but is there anything or anyone half worth the loss of anticipating for?
