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It's not the waiting I mind: it's the wondering if they'll ever come. It's almost certainly residue from a rough patch of my childhood when the grownups were trying to corral the chaos of their lives like water overrunning the tub and they forgot to come for us. After the buses were gone and the other parents had ushered their brood home to warm nests and dinner, I would shrink myself down to invisible in the early evening chill where lonely thoughts ricocheted off the far dome of heaven.
And wait.
3 comments:
oh this is a very familiar feeling
you think you are waiting but in truth you are preparing for people waiting for you
Here, here! I hear you.
My version of hell is waiting at a bus stop in the winter time. Waiting. Waiting.
-AMB
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