I know what waiting is like.
I spent my childhood watching my mother wait
for my father to be a father, a husband,
a decent human being.
Until she stopped waiting
officially, in 2015.
I still sometimes feel her waiting for love,
for her children to be supportive adults,
for comfort and community.
I know some waiting never ends.
This knowledge scares me,
and it scared me enough at 22
to jump into things that weren’t meant for me.
I wanted experiences and feeling.
I learned to live, to hurt, and to leave.
I learned to run, to settle, and then to set myself free.
I still fear waiting, and the process of waiting,
even though I remember when I was really waiting,
even if involuntarily,
I was at the best that I could be,
I was creating.
I don’t create now.
I met you at 24 and so briefly,
but it gave me enough to remember
that whatever is convenient might
delude me or distract me,
but I will always be waiting,
be it unknowingly,
until I find what sparks that fire in me.