What’s in 8 Years from Now?

It’s hazy, like fog that sits low in the morning

like the clouds blocking the sun at the same

moment as the rain letting up. It is undecided,

not to be fretted about now. In his hands, the change.

In mine, the wait. When it comes, I will confront it.

Until then, I’ll let it be.

Love finds its way.

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