Wishing For Someone

I sit in the shade where I can see the treetops turn into mountains—they’re not as high, but just as beautiful. The silhouettes meld into the dark blue of the horizon. Shadows play when they see the light slash across the sky or when the headlights pass by.

I watch the cars follow each other in a procession of sad, screeching tires. People come and go; they never get tired. They chatter about hate and love, in groups or in pairs, and ignore the rumbles from above.

Two seconds from now, lightning would strike once again—illuminating the empty space beside me. Heaven’s tears would fall, almost in time with my own.