Moving away from the purple.

The tigers watch me.
So intently.

Straying by the clock,
my hands fall onto my lap.
My face wears a smile so pristine.

I pull out some old coins from my pocket,
play with them.
Waiting.

By the fire,
I saw them.
Their pack.
Shinning to my eyes.

Clutching onto some hope,
I still wait,
for the tigers to call me one of them.