Waiting
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Like a piece of paper by the side of road, tossed in the wind.
Like Xmas in September and the summer holidays in the depth of winter.
Waiting for a time when it will all be all right. Except it won't. There's always something, always an obstacle. Patience, I am told. But life doesn't wait for anyone. Another day is gone and I could be dead, I could be walking in a different direction, I could be feeling happy. Anything could happen. What I don't want is this feeling of waiting, of being stuck in limbo, of hoping the emptiness will give way to something alive soon, but a voice tells me to let it go: you don't want to spend today sleeping only to wake up when it really is too late and find that all is left is a bitter cry for all that you left waiting for too long.
I am sick of tomorrow. What about today ? Are you too busy to live ? You seem too busy to love. You are too busy, always too busy. Should I make an appointment now, but be ready for the last minute revocation ? You never know, there might be something more important lurking in the corner.
All this waiting is too close to home. It reminds me of winter nights lost in a fog of confusion waiting for an answer that would never come. Inside my skin I could feel that answer crawl like a beetle, and its ugly head would turn when I least expected it and I would know the bitter truth in an instant of clarity.
I cannot do this anymore. And yet the alternative is to lose the little I have. All or nothing ! I know it's not reasonable but it feels like selling myself short. Like I am some sort of commodity. Like I am a casual gift. Some thing to enjoy and think about later with fondness while it lives its life without you.
It's not like I am not capable of lightness. I have been and continue to be. But this is different. I guess I wanted it to be different. I guess there's something about it that triggers the pain.
So there we go again. I am sad because something is dying and was never born. It's like a romantic miscarriage. All the could bes have become an aborted fetus and though it's hardly formed I could hear its heartbeat and I had begun to love it a little and it's hard to let it go, say goodbye, accept it's just not the right time. Everything in me wanted to give it a chance, and yet it died. It is dying as we speak.
And so I feel sad, I feel rage, I feel hurt, I feel lonely. And there's nothing I can do about it. I can only accept it and hope some sort of action makes itself clear soon. I wish I could tell you all this, but I don't think I can without influencing events in some sort of negative direction. So perhaps I will have to bear the silence for now, and hold in the words until I know exactly what should be said.
Like a piece of paper by the side of road, tossed in the wind.
Like Xmas in September and the summer holidays in the depth of winter.
Waiting for a time when it will all be all right. Except it won't. There's always something, always an obstacle. Patience, I am told. But life doesn't wait for anyone. Another day is gone and I could be dead, I could be walking in a different direction, I could be feeling happy. Anything could happen. What I don't want is this feeling of waiting, of being stuck in limbo, of hoping the emptiness will give way to something alive soon, but a voice tells me to let it go: you don't want to spend today sleeping only to wake up when it really is too late and find that all is left is a bitter cry for all that you left waiting for too long.
I am sick of tomorrow. What about today ? Are you too busy to live ? You seem too busy to love. You are too busy, always too busy. Should I make an appointment now, but be ready for the last minute revocation ? You never know, there might be something more important lurking in the corner.
All this waiting is too close to home. It reminds me of winter nights lost in a fog of confusion waiting for an answer that would never come. Inside my skin I could feel that answer crawl like a beetle, and its ugly head would turn when I least expected it and I would know the bitter truth in an instant of clarity.
I cannot do this anymore. And yet the alternative is to lose the little I have. All or nothing ! I know it's not reasonable but it feels like selling myself short. Like I am some sort of commodity. Like I am a casual gift. Some thing to enjoy and think about later with fondness while it lives its life without you.
It's not like I am not capable of lightness. I have been and continue to be. But this is different. I guess I wanted it to be different. I guess there's something about it that triggers the pain.
So there we go again. I am sad because something is dying and was never born. It's like a romantic miscarriage. All the could bes have become an aborted fetus and though it's hardly formed I could hear its heartbeat and I had begun to love it a little and it's hard to let it go, say goodbye, accept it's just not the right time. Everything in me wanted to give it a chance, and yet it died. It is dying as we speak.
And so I feel sad, I feel rage, I feel hurt, I feel lonely. And there's nothing I can do about it. I can only accept it and hope some sort of action makes itself clear soon. I wish I could tell you all this, but I don't think I can without influencing events in some sort of negative direction. So perhaps I will have to bear the silence for now, and hold in the words until I know exactly what should be said.
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