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Saturday, 20 November 2010

The waiting Game


She seemed to have spent her whole life waiting. Waiting like most people do.  She was, on the outside, just like most people.
As a child she waited for the her birthday, waiting for cards to drop through the door, she waited for Christmas, and that feeling of overwhelming excitement when she realised her stocking was full, and holding her breath for just a  extra second, she waited to peer inside.
She waited for the school bell, the end of term, which seemed to stretch out into infinity. She waited  for buses, trains and lots and lots of planes. She had lost count of the hours she had sat in cavernous airports and drafty train stations, at motorway cafés, and on the side of the road looking for a lift.

She waited.

 She was good at waiting.

 As a teenager she waited, like all teenagers d; for the phone to ring. She waited for the other person to hang up; laughing at their own inability to say goodbye.
She waited for people to change, to grow up, to look at their behaviour and find it wanting. She gave up waiting and left.
She waited twice for babies to come; holding them to herself, savoring the wait, enjoying those private moments late in the night , talking to them, telling them about the waiting game she played, and how she was waiting for their arrival.

She waited for him, night after night dreading his return, fearing the sound of the door opening. Her heart pounding.
And she lay beside him, silently, waiting for the alcohol to work, waiting for him to be fast asleep. And as she waited she planned her escape.
It was a long wait.
 She waited until she was ready, till she no longer cared if she lived or died, till he could hurt her no more, and she escaped.
Everyone else waited, waited for her to come back to life, for her vacant eyes to fill with life again.
She didn’t know she was waiting.
And then the sky was blue one day. And she noticed; and she knew she had stopped waiting.

And now.

Now she waits with her heart filled.
She waits for him. Her owner.
 She waits to talk to him. She waits to see him. She waits for his instructions, his orders. She waits.

She is still.

She waits until he asks her what she needs. She waits for the words to form in her head to explain to him how she feels and she waits to tell him.

 She waits on her knees.

This waiting is good….this feeling….this happiness…this total contentment…..this control.

This is what she has waited for.

The waiting is over.

4 comments:

  1. This is beautiful. Thanks, aisha

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  2. Thanks aisha...just as well I am patient x

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  3. Thank you Mistres160 :) s'all true.

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