Waiting

It’s been several days, and he’s not called. Actually, he rarely calls. He’s more of messager — texter — child of the digital age. We barely speak on the phone. Does — “I’m outside” — count? Thought not. Truth be told, we barely speak when we see each other — at least, not in the conventional way. Our bodies speak, our minds scream — unspoken words claw at each other. Our eyes feast. Arms and legs; unleashed.

I’m waiting now. And, it’s in the waiting that the wanting starts. Unfurls.Slams itself against walls; cases the floors. Falls on the floor; lays in disarray.There’s a discipline in waiting, a comfortable silence. And it’s somewhere between the hunger and the anger, and frustration. Why won’t he just pick up the damn phone?

Here’s another truth, — I’ve googled ‘He’s not really that into you’ — countless times, and ticked each box. If he doesn’t contact you within 5 days — he’s not that into you. Tick. If he keeps cancelling on you -he’s a total shit, and you should totally delete his number. Tick. You should hunt down his last lover and get the low-down. Okay, maybe not tick. Enough ticks to make the Bingo lady’s head spin, and my girlfriends to give me that ‘hard stare’ across the table. It’s the judging I can’t abide. And yet, I still wait.

How did I get here? How many times have I been here? The hard wood floor beneath my fingers is cold. Outside in the garden, the neighbour’s dog has chased something — another bird or a squirrel, — into the undergrowth, it’s barking switches quickly from impossible excitement to frustrated growls. I glance at the windows where the rain gently tap-tap-taps on the panes. Barely audible while I lie here. Lost in these cotton-wool-like thoughts. Of him. Of me. Of us? And why do I wait?

I wait — because I’ve fallen deeply for this man. Fallen hard; fallen fast — but, there’s a freedom in this falling, bittersweet and ‘oh so lovely’. There’s a courage in failing, and a macabre beauty in the unravelling of someone’s heart. Even more so terrifying if it’s your own.

How many times can this grown girl fall? Countless, it seems. And what’s that lesson in life — in love? It’s not in the falling that we learn, but in the getting back up? I believe that getting back up translates to ‘hope’. And if we don’t have hope — then what?

So, I stare up the grey ceiling, and wait. The rain stops tapping, the neighbour’s dog falls silent, the afternoon’s shadows slowly sweep across the floor. I close my eyes and inhale slowly, deeply and carefully I release that breath. My ribcage deflates, letting it all out. And, as if on cue, there’s a low buzzing sound from the phone beside me. At last.

Yes. I’ve fallen, but it’s in the vain hope, that I will learn to fly. Again.

Photo credit: Talei Loto

PS: We all ride that roller coaster of emotions when we pin our hopes on someone we really like - and I thought about that recently - the highs and lows of that ride, - all the times when you wait for someone to call-text-message you - and they take their sweet time about replying.  I posted this over at Medium earlier, I hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts.  - Talei xo