I have travelled from Paris to Montpellier, Barcelona, Marseille, Cannes, Nice, Monaco and Milan.  I have been waiting - waiting on platforms and trains in different cities.  I’m waiting until it’s time to come home to Poland.

I’m coming home to you.  I’m coming home to you and I want you to listen to me.  I want you to listen to me about how I’ve been waiting for you.

Waiting for the right time.

Waiting for the right words.

Waiting for you to recognise me.  (I hope you recognise me this time).

I’m waiting until you and I can have coffee and cake and talk about the old times before the war, and laugh about the times we missed each other because you didn’t recognise me.

I’m waiting for home grown roses and games of tennis.

I’m waiting for old Polish books I will never bother reading.

I’m waiting at the window, by the sea, for you to come home because I’m worried you’re lost and won’t recognise me.

This entry was posted by Krissi Musiol on Monday, July 27th, 2009 at 8:47pm.
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