In a well known novel,
there’s a man that waits on the shoreline,
watching in a hopeful stance.
When anyone comes nearby,
he too will disappear into the night.
If he walks outside tonight,
strolls the neighborhood,
while curtains drawn lives become private,
what thoughts will fill his mind,
as the stars create music above.
Are we all waiting for the same thing,
just different degrees,
but essentially standing in wait,
Who decides the value of the green light?
Gatsby never really went forward,
in fact, he stepped back,
waiting in the shadows,
hoping there might be a solution,
without his own effort.
Instead she made the move,
just like Hollywood.