He is my unfulfilled regret,
The one who endlessly waited—
Throwing hopes like a net.

One day, perhaps,
I’ll be spent—
The hours of waiting may finally end.

But not just end—
The fierce desire to hold him close
Will remain,
untouched in the flood of all attainments.

He is my—
Name of a sorrow that never came true.

Because he is—
A beloved nickname of bitter,
unwanted waiting.