I sit.
I wait.
I can hear nothing, but there is something in the silence.
Cries.
Not in pain, but in longing.
They long for the time when they could smile without wondering how soon it would end.
Or what they had done to deserve this short moment.
Or how they would have to pay for it later.
They long for the time when they could cry for joy.
Not because of pain, or fear, or losses of their hearts, and souls, and minds.
They long for the time when they could breathe.
Fill their lungs with not only air, but hope.
Reassurance.
Love.
Anticipation.
Tomorrow.
Everything that could make them whole.
They know they will never see, or feel, or even imagine these things and they long for the times when they could have.
They are the true lost ones and they will never know it.
They cease to exist; but when they do, they will be led to think that they are living full lives and full existences.
They are tomorrow... And they are lost.
And all we can do is cry out.