‹ Prequel: In the Month of May
One-Hundred Days
Day Fifty-Four: Waiting
They have a name for everything, everything that sums up each thought in my head and every moment that occurs in my life. They have a name for that crooked smile and the way our hands fit to each other’s. They have a name for the way my heart starts stuttering whenever you’re around and the way I can never stop smiling no matter what you say or do. They have a name for that look in your eyes when ours meet and a name for the words that fall out of my mouth with no end in sight.
They have a name for everything and everyone. They have a name for the way I’m sitting outside your apartment with my head in my hands, in the corner of the stairs where no one would be likely to see me. They have a name for the way I’m waiting for you now, when I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know that I’m waiting; I just know that I want to see you and that you’re not home now, as always.
It used to be that the reason you were never home was because you were with me, lying in my bed instead of your own and sitting out on my balcony drinking the coffee that I never made strong enough for you. I once put only coffee into your cup, and you took a sip and smiled before saying it still wasn’t strong enough. I remember that sly smile and the joke in your eyes as I sat down beside you and watched the sun reach over the city skyline.
They have a name for the wooden stairs beneath my feet that my eyes are fixated on. They have a name for the way the useless tears are falling the foot from my eyes to the floorboards. They have a name for everything, and you know each and every one. I would smile a certain way and you’d call it a name, a name that I had never heard before. I’d stare, hurt, until you reassured me it was only a compliment and I started smiling again.
I bring my head from my knees at the sound of footsteps echoing through the hollow staircase. I think in my mind of the name you had given that action, that sound. I watch, waiting for a familiar face to come out of the darkness lurking below the bottom stairs. It attaches to your legs as you walk slowly, brokenly, up the creaking wooden steps. I watch as your face brings itself to meet the doorway and I wait for you to notice the huddled ball of a human being so close to your feet.
You stop next to me and turn. I’m waiting for you to sit, to know who I am simply by the fragments of light illuminating my face in bits and pieces. I’m waiting for you to see my eyes and know my name, like the way you know the name of everything else.
You kneel down and ask if I am all right. I shake my head. You offer me your hand and a place to sleep for the night. I stand in front of you, waiting.
You stare at me, with my broken smile and watery eyes, and I know in your mind you are thinking of all the names that define me right now. I wait, with my hands to my sides, fidgeting to hold yours.
You stare at me, before smiling. I smile back that certain way and you say the name beneath your breath. I tilt my head at the familiarity and wait for you to take me inside of the apartment that you haven’t been to once in the past three months.
They have a name for everything, and you know them all, and I watch as you walk around your apartment, talking and naming off the things inhabiting the small space. I watch as you lay your knowledge at my feet and only smile and nod.
They have a name for everything, and you somehow know them all, and I am left waiting for the answers and names to the simplest of questions and the simplest of things.
I have a feeling I will be waiting forever.
They have a name for everything and everyone. They have a name for the way I’m sitting outside your apartment with my head in my hands, in the corner of the stairs where no one would be likely to see me. They have a name for the way I’m waiting for you now, when I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know that I’m waiting; I just know that I want to see you and that you’re not home now, as always.
It used to be that the reason you were never home was because you were with me, lying in my bed instead of your own and sitting out on my balcony drinking the coffee that I never made strong enough for you. I once put only coffee into your cup, and you took a sip and smiled before saying it still wasn’t strong enough. I remember that sly smile and the joke in your eyes as I sat down beside you and watched the sun reach over the city skyline.
They have a name for the wooden stairs beneath my feet that my eyes are fixated on. They have a name for the way the useless tears are falling the foot from my eyes to the floorboards. They have a name for everything, and you know each and every one. I would smile a certain way and you’d call it a name, a name that I had never heard before. I’d stare, hurt, until you reassured me it was only a compliment and I started smiling again.
I bring my head from my knees at the sound of footsteps echoing through the hollow staircase. I think in my mind of the name you had given that action, that sound. I watch, waiting for a familiar face to come out of the darkness lurking below the bottom stairs. It attaches to your legs as you walk slowly, brokenly, up the creaking wooden steps. I watch as your face brings itself to meet the doorway and I wait for you to notice the huddled ball of a human being so close to your feet.
You stop next to me and turn. I’m waiting for you to sit, to know who I am simply by the fragments of light illuminating my face in bits and pieces. I’m waiting for you to see my eyes and know my name, like the way you know the name of everything else.
You kneel down and ask if I am all right. I shake my head. You offer me your hand and a place to sleep for the night. I stand in front of you, waiting.
You stare at me, with my broken smile and watery eyes, and I know in your mind you are thinking of all the names that define me right now. I wait, with my hands to my sides, fidgeting to hold yours.
You stare at me, before smiling. I smile back that certain way and you say the name beneath your breath. I tilt my head at the familiarity and wait for you to take me inside of the apartment that you haven’t been to once in the past three months.
They have a name for everything, and you know them all, and I watch as you walk around your apartment, talking and naming off the things inhabiting the small space. I watch as you lay your knowledge at my feet and only smile and nod.
They have a name for everything, and you somehow know them all, and I am left waiting for the answers and names to the simplest of questions and the simplest of things.
I have a feeling I will be waiting forever.