The Waiting Game

- At the moment, all I seem to do is wait. I'm constantly drifting and a little bit lost. It reminds me of the Austen characters who sat around and sewed and embroidered and aged and waited for their men. 
- I don't have much confidence. What little I have gets crushed with every day. I'm escaping into my daydreams all the time, which are inevitably disappointed, and constantly in agony.
- And then, like a refreshing sip of water removing a cloying taste, someone reminds you that all of this is transient and temporary, and if you could be a bit less self involved the world might move faster and less gratingly.

- This is my current situation. Isn't it a sorry state of affairs? 
- I'm not the sort of woman who sits by a phone. I proved it, I got away last time, I won't be tied down again. How can I be just 18 and already terrified of love's advance? It's inavoidable and subtle as thunder.
- I'm sick of protocol and procedure. 21 questions through text. It's not the game I'd choose. I want to be honest and transparent. I want my heart to break today and heal tomorrow. This slow twist of the knife is hell and it makes me hate him.

- But I'll go on waiting. Because it gives me hope, though it's hollow sustenance. 
- What's at the end of the wait? Disappointment seems so likely, almost inescapable. With every love song I feel more lonely, and my daydreams more unlikely.
- The waiting game is a long and lonely one.