Faded Chance

A log lays crackling in the fireplace,
it's warmth fades away.
While an unopened bottle of champagne
floats in the melting ice.
The carefully chosen candles
have burned themselves out.
She has fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him,
although she had not expected him to come.
At 2:00 a.m., she climbs the stairs,
turning out the lights as she goes.
Turning down the bed,
she takes one last look out the window.
Unable to see the lone figure
cowering in the shadows.
He has been there for hours,
waiting and wanting to go to the door.
Afraid of her wrath, her rejection.
But it is their day, he had to come.
Many times this evening, he had
approached the door,
too frozen with panic to let her know
he was there.
It's 2:00 a.m. and as the last light has faded,
so had his chances to make it right.
Both now turn and go their separate ways
lost to each other and lost to themselves.

Jon Paul Fredricks III

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