I wait. I wait for your return. I wait for his return. I wait for my dreams to return. I wait for my voice to return. In this waiting, I drink tea, I eat crackers, I smoke a cigarette, I drink whisky, I drink coffee, I smoke another cigarette, I look for the story, I try to remember. I search for signs, I search for a start. I search for continuity. I wear myself out searching.
I wait. Nothing to do but wait. Nothing but waiting.
Only waiting returns. Over and over. Each time looking for you. Each time disappointed to find only me.
While I wait, the sun sets behind the snowy peaks. An eagle flew by earlier. Over and over, birds return to the feeder. A boat in the quiet bay drops its crab pots and heads to shore. You would love it here. Now a branch scratches against the bedroom window. Now it’s almost dark and I turn the lights on. Now I lie in bed, waiting for dawn.
Before the waiting, there was the longing. That’s it. I remember now. I was longing for union. I remember it clearly. I was longing for you and for him at the same time and then this happened. This thing that surprised us all, but it shouldn’t have. My heart collapsed under the weight of so much longing. I fought for my life, the only way I knew how. So I left you back in your town. And I left him with scorn. We were all shocked. Silence pursued. Hurt filled the space like black smoke. You vanished from my dreams and so did my dreams. He retreated to interior lands where I was not allowed to follow. And I am left… in this darkness where I reach for some sign of you. I call for you but there’s no answer. I call for him, but his answer is hollowed of love.
Waiting is when longing loses heart.