He waits anxiously, hovering in my peripheral vision
for a sign, a signal. He is waiting for me to return.
He treads carefully, keeping the conversation neutral.
It is very hard work, filling in the awkward silences.
He cannot reach me.
I cannot help him.
For I do not know where I am or when I will return.
I wish that someday he would come and look for me,
that someday he would come and find me.
I guess we are both waiting.