Something Else

A woman sits on a bench in Grand Central Terminal, the Shuttle train behind her open, the one in front shut for the night. She waits for something else.

I need something else.
I long to love myself.
Something else might
strip away the pain
that remains. I long
for something else.
All in good time. Line
by line, a dark pen
writes the brightest
rhymes. I will be fine.
For now, something
else waits for some-
one else. I see things
come and go. I want
my love to grow into
something you know –
something else, maybe?