The reach

Hands open and palms to the sky.
Waiting,
hoping,
wanting,
praying,
reaching,
yearning,
For a hand to hold them.
For a love like sunlight to shine down upon them,
enveloping and awakening the life within the tingling fingertips
with contact from another wanderer.

Have the stars I reach for forsaken me?
Did they have the sky rain down
and flood my mind and soul with these hopelessly romantic ideas and wishes
(seemingly so obtainable)
only to leave me out to dry?

My hands reach twelve and pause but  im still ticking.
Is my time up?
I want a breath of love to breathe life back into these broken peices.
I don't want to be fixed but rather gathered together in someone's hands.
Hands I've reached for since happily ever after entered my bedtime daydreams.

Waiting, even if in vain,
has to be better than settling for less than starlight on clear summer nights.
I don't want a shit show.
I want a partner I can meet at skyfall.

Will I be waiting till skyfall?

Reaching for the stars I realize I'm alone
but at least I'm together with my pieces in doing so.

So I'll sit here with my hands open and palms to the sky.
Waiting,
hoping,
wanting,
praying,
reaching,
yearning,
FIGHTING
for what the stars have promised me.

I won't give up.
I'll reach.