She asks me what I’m waiting for, and I cannot respond. 
I do not have an answer, because I do not know.
If I knew the colour or the shape, I’d have painted it years ago.
If I dreamt the tone and rhythm, I’d have long ago sung that song.
If I imagined the breadth or the weight, I’d surely have carried that burden. 
And if I knew your face or name, I’d have brought you roses and called you mine.