Night after night I sit.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Wishing.
Maybe this time you'll come.
Or maybe you won't.
Maybe this time he won't hit you.
Or me.
Maybe he won't be stoned.
Or maybe he will.
Or.
Maybe it is unlikely.
Very unlikely.
That you'll come.
And Maybe.
Just maybe.
I'll realize how good that really is.
