Sweet Nothings

Sitting here
with a handful of grace
that I hold onto with all my might.
Trees and flowers
fill the air with their own kind
of gracefulness.
the almost summer sun
is almost warm enough.
but the chill seems to linger.
in the air and me.
the stars have sung their lullaby to the moon,
and the clouds are still dancing with the light.
I just want to let myself be.
Be here.
yet the countdown is still ticking away.
Apathy waiting.
cheering from the sidelines.
I'm determined that I'll never leave
these seaside tidal pools of peace.
The sound of my own voice
echoing back in sweet nothings. 
their search mission for desire
returning back just so.
whatever may be next, is hiding around the bend
like the road split in two.
My compass swinging
here and yesterday,
bringing me to a new found place
of being where I want to be.
Silky green,
Strawberry red,
and the black and white of long roads...
that don't go home. 
where home isn't, anyways.
So I'll just sit here,
let the warmth kiss my skin
and wait.
with my handful of grace.