I stare at the blank ceiling.

Waiting.

Perhaps,

For a miracle to happen.

Maybe waiting,

For the rain

To fall from the white sky.

Or till

The lights grew tired and dim.

No.

I am waiting for my muse,

Who would fill my empty cup.

The one who'd satisfy

My thirst for ink.

I am waiting for you…

Who would fill my glass cube with pixie dust.