The wait is like being trapped in a fog.
Thick, and humid; it closes in, threatens to choke.
It’s seeping into my lungs. I cough, but can’t get it out. I have to get out of this place.
Where am I?
There are small lights all around; luring, but confusing me.
The real prize is a golden lure
Mixed with dirt. Cold, beautiful, its painful stain has been hidden from me.
I don’t know why; I only know it won’t be this way forever.
Through the fog, I hear God’s whisper:
“I haven’t forgotten you,” He says.
It pierces my despair, and I breathe again.