Now serving… no one.

Estimated wait time: infinite

⸻

We stood between velvet ropes,

Trading sarcasm, shrinking hopes.

You said, “lines make us feel in place,”

I said, “I like your offline face.”

Paper tickets, nervous hands,

Your breath synced with the speaker stands.

They called the names we never gave —

We smiled like queues were meant to save.

⸻

Every “next” is just pretend,

Every sigh, a dead-end trend.

We lean on poles like modern saints,

Draped in doubt, with painted restraints.

⸻

The queue never ends,

We’re stuck in designer suspense.

Hearts on hold, style on spin,

Filing in — we never begin.

Our love, a silent bellhop call,

Waiting rooms down mirrored halls.

The queue never ends,

But at least you’re standing next to me.

⸻

You scroll through thoughts like screensavers,

I fold my doubts like club flyers.

We rehearse exits in our sleep,

Rewind kisses we never keep.

You say “it’s fine” like it’s couture,

I nod — it makes the wait feel pure.

We play at patience, act polite,

But check the line like appetite.

⸻

Each pause is dressed in custom grey,

A uniform for time decay.

You say “someday,” I hear “never,”

We loop through queues that end… forever.

⸻

The queue never ends,

We’re stuck in designer suspense.

Hearts on hold, style on spin,

Filing in — we never begin.

Our love, a silent bellhop call,

Waiting rooms down mirrored halls.

The queue never ends,

But at least you’re standing next to me.

⸻

This isn’t limbo.

This is curated stillness.

A performance of patience —

wrapped in double knots,

barcoded and scanned…

twice.

⸻

Your number’s almost up…

…but we don’t leave.