On the other side of a waiting stance

The thing about waiting, is that the wait becomes a way of life. Slowly, it erodes into your days, like Wednesday, like Friday, and one day, you don’t notice anymore. If only it stayed that way. But all waits end, if it doesn’t, the watch ends. But, an end is always lurking around, to jerk the monotony off of the wait.

And it becomes unbearable those last few days before you know your wait will end. He will come, you’ll see and there will be no ceremony to the death of your long, nurtured wait and your loyalty to your wait dies a shameless death, as you skip from one foot to another, waiting your turn to be kissed after years or maybe months. 

And, this wait, this slightly impure wait, soiled by the surety of its death, becomes a most annoying thing when you know, you wait was someone else’s time with him, ripening to fruition, someone else’s eyes singing him to attention, someone else’s love blooming into something sort of a dedication for him and you are left, waiting.
This wait, when it ends, ends that ripening and the blooming of her heart and I do not one bit feel happy about it. Who says it feels good when your prayers are answered? It feels like you made the wrong prayer. 

Happenings, listed 

I always loved the idea of a house left locked for a few hours. All the life is still in its walls, no dust will gather on the coffee table, nothing will change by the time you come back to it.

But won’t anything happen to a locked house? Happenings, listed :

  • leftover tea in cups, gets darker and stronger
  • cupboards closed in a hurry will creak open, awaiting your arrival
  • clothes on the line will dry and bleach in the Indian summer
  • A forgotten night lamp will stand a stupid vigil to your house
  • Your house changes colour from a transparent white to a translucent orange by the end of the day

Things happen in a locked house.