The day grows longer. I sit and wait, hoping for a buzz, a ring.
The birds fly past, not noticing what I am up to, not taking heed of my longing for attention.
I sit. The clock ticks, it tracks. But tracks what?
Life? Is this life?
Sitting and waiting, waiting and sitting.
The silence overwhelms.
And then, a buzz.
A sound that makes me stop, but for what?
For the thought of human interaction?
What has this become, this day that drags before me. A day that seems to not end, a day that only ends when they come home.
A life, a fleeting life.
A wasted life, a wasted education.
A life of possibilities, now a life of limitations.
And they say why, and they ask why not.
When are you coming?
Why aren’t you going?
What do they know about sitting and waiting?
For everyone is just waiting.
But as I wait, I wait for a day, a day in a life that is no longer mine.
A life that fleets, a life that weeps.
A life that just goes on, waiting.