Looking out the window

Waiting

For the happy friend

who seems to have it right.

The doors slide open

and locks always click in their places.

We sit

waiting for our hands to be held.

For smiles to be searching 

for something more.

Waiting for second chances

when fakeness is wiped away.

Waiting for them to see

all that is here

and more.

That is what we are waiting for.

Plausible 

So close to our outstretched fingertips

you and I sit

dreaming.

Of stories that could actually come true

not just in the flickers of our mind.

Deserved and tardy

actions will ring the bell.

Car doors will be opened

and smiles will be paid.

Wayside glances taken in,

and reality will become real.

But first we must turn our hands around the clock

twisting them into uncommon angels.