the question with waiting is always: how long

“Why do you never wait for me?”
“Why don’t you ever call?”
“Why do you always just leave?”

Only as the months went past, did I realize that these complaints weren’t isolated events, but a refrain. More than that, I started to notice how right the voices were: I’d simply get up from the middle of a conversation and walk away, I’d be gone when someone asked me to wait for them, I left my dates alone at parties in rooms full of strangers.

I was just so tired of waiting. Waiting for him had crushed any sort of tolerance I had for the act of waiting. I’d wait for the sun to rise on his side of the world, and for the moon to bide its time on mine. I’d sit in front of the computer, waiting for the little light next to his name to light up, and move to the top of my IM contacts. I’d wait for my phone to ring or for a beep to indicate a new message. Yes it did, more often than not, it did. But there were occasions where I’d ended up waiting hours, one, two three, for him. And in those eternities, which stretched on like the twilight shadow, my newly discovered heart would die a thousand deaths.

It was waiting that finally broke me. No matter how long I waited, no matter how long we chatted, it was just to return to another state of waiting. While you were there and I was here, waiting would be an unavoidable part of my life. But I was still to learn that your words weren’t promises, just words. Till now, again and again, I re-visit our ending on innocents, on those that shouldn’t have been affected at all.

What guts me most, though, is that even now, when I find myself impatiently unable to hold on for others, I find myself still waiting for you.

Even in Paris where we never were
I wait for you
knowing you will not come.
Ruth Stone – Turn Your Eyes Away

~ by translating for peas on January 24, 2010.

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