Each night I wait. I watch out the window. I count cars that appear on the road. See their headlights grow then dwindle as they continue past on two lanes heading north. “If I count ten cars, he’ll come.” “If I count twenty…” I hope we will drive to the light and talk and laugh but he may not appear. I sit at the window until late, the night gone. Disappointment’s my reward. All evening I'm held hostage to hope. My job – suspense, submission. His – choice and power.
A WELL TRAVELED HEART 
Great poem Cindy. I remember that kind of waiting. You really captured it.
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This makes me feel sad…
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That really resonated with me. Very meaningful in so many ways.
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I so often felt powerless as a young girl. It didn’t help that we had no phone in our summer house.
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Thanks Suze.
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