I love a man who has asked me to wait. I have grown weary of waiting. I have spent my life waiting for futures that will never come. Waiting for a god to bring destruction to an “ungodly world”. Waiting for god’s paradise to erase all that ails me. Waiting for an eternal pipe-dream. So, no, I don’t like waiting anymore.
I spent years living by my mother’s motto “Wait on Jehovah (her name for god).” Waiting for abusive elders to mend their ways, watching as I and others were trampled upon under the guise of “tending the flock”. I waited in closed door chambers to have elders tell me I was finally good enough to be welcomed back into the fold after having worn a scarlet letter and been shunned for 18 months. I waited for apologies and unconditional love that never came. I waited and waited and waited. And waited some more. So, no, I don’t like waiting anymore.
I waited for four years to kiss my first boyfriend. My mother said, “No kissing until your 18th birthday.” We broke up a month before I turned 18; my lips still wonder what his lips taste like. So, no, I don’t like waiting anymore.
I waited for a love of 20 years, the truest love I’d known in my young life, to be consummated. I shed tears upon tears in a prison I never sought, trying to be the good little Christian, the chaste woman, the someone everyone looked up to. I lost years of love, years of expression, years of being in my own skin. So, no, I don’t like waiting anymore.
I love a man who has asked me to wait. I feel shackled. I feel like I want to break out of my skin every time I see him. This is not building anticipation; this is caging the phoenix who wants nothing but to rise, to spread her wings, and fly. I feel helpless. I feel broken. I feel confined.
I love this man. So, there is nothing left to do but invite the waiting in, pour it some tea and decide to be friends.
Hello Waiting...is that one lump or two?