Photo Story Friday: Impatiently Waiting

Opening Note: “She”, as the narrator, remains unnamed throughout the entire story, along with her co-character, “He”. Neither one of these characters are real people, rather they are representations of emotion. Both of these characters represent the various views of passion, love, commitment and fear. They do not represent any actual people and should not be interpreted in that way.

“Wait, just wait,” she was told again and again. She had no desire to sit still, to let dust collect on her heart. There was nothing left to say or do. She could wait or run. She was too lazy to run, at first. Waiting didn’t seem so bad. Amidst a time of waiting, she could still imagine the possibilities of when the waiting would finally stop. Would that even happen? Would the waiting really stop? No one could provide any sort of reassurance. No words of hope, not even from the man she thought she could love.

Legs crossed, waiting for the bus. Arms crossed, remaining seated, waiting to arrive at her stop. Eyes crossed, reading and re-reading the same messages over and over and over again. “Just wait, baby. Just wait. These things take time. Just wait”. She had become attached to the idea of him. Belonging to another person, relying on him, bringing him joy with her presence. She realized now that she would have to wait on those things. Her dreams would never become a reality with the man she thought she could love.

She thought she would have waited longer. Waited to fall in love before giving up her last ounce of innocence. Pictures roll through her mind’s eye like an old film, no sound, only movement between a man and a woman. Regret stings like rubbing alcohol in an open wound. Seeping through every part of her being, reminding her of what she once felt. The sting is satisfying at first but the wound still remains, her raw flesh bare for the world to see. Her longings are real. Her desire for love is real. Her fear of loss is real. Her inner warmth fades fast, like a loss of blood after a knife pierces the skin. These are the feelings she once had for the man she thought she could love.

Now who will love a girl like her? Used, fragile, needy? Her words don’t even make sense in person. The only escape she has is in her writing. Words turn to sentences that become paragraphs that are put into chapters that create the pages of books. She does not believe in opening up to anyone of human flesh. Human flesh carries heat and passion- weapons of destruction. In fear of destruction, she hides; she buries herself. She longs to be found but fears who will find her. That is why she builds a wall. Four walls surrounding her, high above where she is hidden. For a time, those walls began to shake and crumble. Someone had taken the time to figure out what the walls were made of and how to tear them down. Within her hiding space, she trembled. All could sense the earth shaking beneath her, even the man who was tearing down the walls. He became afraid of what he could not see and fled the scene – never to be found again. Relieved, she sighed but still cried tears of sorrow because he was not willing to continue his pursuit of her. Even though it made her vulnerable, she did enjoy being pursued by the man she thought she could love.

So what now? She asks herself. He has come and gone so quickly that she barely had enough time to breathe. Breathing became a challenge in itself when she began to overthink. If overthinking was an Olympic sport, she would win the gold medal. He said to “just wait”, but that waiting turned into thinking; overwhelming thoughts that consumed every inch of her brain. There is no rest for a brain that full. “Just wait, just wait. Have patience, be patient”. Phrases on a loop, being typed out like clock-work, hitting send with the touch of a bottom. Meaningless words strung together into hopeless phrases. What is the waiting for? For her heart to be broken, for her body to be bruised, her mind to be guilt-ridden, her soul to be tormented? Why is she the only one waiting and what does she get to do in the meantime? When is the wait over? What would have happened if she had waited and he didn’t want her anymore. After all that time, waiting and waiting and waiting. Waiting around, wasting her days, all for the man she thought she could love.

Closing Note: This story reads almost like a poem in the way that it represents the overthinking process most people experience when they begin to experience vulnerability with another person. As each paragraph extends in length, “she” becomes overwhelmed with the amount of thoughts in her head. These thoughts leave her with less room to breathe and less organization overall as she finishes her thinking with only questions.

Published by alliemilot

Student, Artist, Musician, Writer

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