Because She Is Waiting

How long do you wait until you stop waiting?

I've been waiting for five years, and still waiting. I'm about to stop, though. Because it hurts, because it's pointless, because I really think I should. Should I?

She's still waiting. She has been waiting for seventeen miserable years. I'm sure she has had thoughts of letting go and giving up, but she always come back strong. She and I, we, are both waiting for the same impossible thing. It is impossible because we both know we need a miracle to make it happen.

You know what? That's exactly what I'm waiting for right now; a miracle.

Andy Warhol said, "The idea of waiting for something makes it more interesting." Yes, Andy, I'm with you. Unfortunately, there is a thin line between interesting and infuriating; I'm just not sure if I want to cross the line.

You know that thing in the science museum? That thing where you have a roller coaster of wire and a loop, and the objective is to move the loop along the wire without having them touch? I don't know how I can explain this better, but that thing is interesting, right? You fail, yet you try again and again and again... until you realize the impossibility of the "game" and stop trying because failure annoys you. In my waiting, I try. But it has been five years and not once did I succeed. I am annoyed, big time.

I sometimes wonder if God is playing with me. Since what I'm waiting for is a miracle, interaction with Him is crucial. I talk to him every day, asking him for a miracle, the miracle, and other things unworthy of mention. I'm sure He is listening, because I talk to Him out loud. Where is my miracle, God? His answer: My time is not your time. To this, I cannot argue any further.

How long should you wait until you stop waiting?

During these five years, I have discovered love (and/or lack of it), revealed secrets, and cried more than I've ever cried in my life. I feel like I've been wasting my resources: time, tears, tissue. Except for the tissues, I know full well there are not a lot more where they came from.

I have made sacrifices, performed for the sake of pride, and lied for the good of one other. In my waiting, I almost died. And then I wonder if all this waiting is healthy... Is it? Waiting for this one miracle, I have risked my heart malfunctioning from beating too fast, eyes going blind from crying too much, lips glued from extended silence. In my waiting, I broke.

After five years, I don't cry anymore. I threw away the hope of a miracle after a surprise party was thrown for me. Probably the worst Sunday in my life, and ironically I bought a CD titled 'Happy Sunday' that day. The Guy Up There probably forgot to tell me it was opposite day.

Best surprise party ever.
I spent the next two nights crying. She was away, so she didn't know I know.

A miracle was what I was waiting for; instead I held a miraculous two-day tear fiesta. By that time, I've lost all hope. Maybe I kept a little bit of it, knowing that when she returns she's going to ask me about that flicker of hope. She is still waiting, remember? She said she has got nothing to lose since she's lost everything. Everything. We could be wasting our time, I said. That's why I collect watches, she replied.

So here I am. Waiting for a miracle. Waiting for something more impossible than... I don't know. If you're wondering why I'm still waiting for this, my answer would be her. I can't let her wait alone.

How long am I going to wait until I stop waiting?

As long as her clock keeps ticking.