I float around this place, in
silence mostly, silence seems to fit me as I am right now. Which is
beautiful,
aching, and waiting. Always
waiting. I was thinking last night, about how
life is waiting. Waiting for a
party, a
date, to be asked out on a date, waiting for the right time to call someone so won't seem desperate (but really thinking about him all the time). Waiting for the next time you're allowed to eat, waiting for your allotted time on the
treadmill, waiting for that time to pass. Waiting on a green-patterned couch in a room with white walls and wooden floors as the blue hands of a clock measure out the
lengths of
time that pass in pie slices. Waiting for what? A
motivation? Someone who will come along and change your life? Get real though, no one will change your life because your life will still consist of waiting. Waiting for the pie to be done, the soap to come on, for him to come home from work. For the
baby to come, for the
test results, for the grief to pass, and finally you will wait for your own death.
What do we really wait for? Those moments when you're so completely in the now that you can't even fathom waiting for something else to come. Ecstasy...better living through chemisty...two solid hours of that feeling. Real instances of this are pure, transient, and special. Holding hands with someone for the first time, allowing yourself to get lost in someone else's eyes, laughter.
These moments have to end and once again you are waiting. Waiting for the night to end and a new day to begin.