You never thought you would be the girl who waited. And yet, here you are, waiting.
You’re not foolish enough to stay up all night to wait for that single text, that little notification that lights up your world lights up your phone screen. You’re 100% practical; why lose actual sleep over something that isn’t within your control? Anyway, you’ve got a presentation tomorrow, and like, two assignments you intend to finish during your first break. You have better things to do than wasting your time, waiting. And you’re not going to be the one to deal the blow to the house of cards that you’ve so painstakingly built for yourself just because you’re running on fumes and the bitter tang of disappointment.
But deep down, you know that waiting isn’t always about physically waiting by the phone. Waiting is also about the words chasing circles in your head at night; waiting is the little feathered thing fluttering in your rib-cage no matter how battered it gets; waiting is the little nagging thought that threatens to steal your breath away when you have just begun to let yourself breathe a little.
Some days, you tell yourself, in a fit of self-righteousness, “I shouldn’t have to wait”. You busy yourself with other things; you try to convince yourself that you’re not waiting, that you’re going to put it all out of your mind, once and for all. And then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, you’re back to square one again because you think, “maybe if I just wait a little more, just a little more…” You fall, face-first, again into the rosebush of “maybe he’s waiting too”.
But with every excuse, every deflection, every distinct absence, you find that a little part of you is already beginning to let it go.
Maybe it’s time for you to let yourself go.
Let the words settle into your toes. Lay the little feathered thing to rest. Release that nagging thought to the four winds.