I’ve always been waiting it seems.

Times I waited for him to come home. Waited for him to come to my room. Waited for him to be there, wherever, everywhere. Waited for him to touch me. Waited for him to stop touching me.  Waited for the words from someone to ask what was happening – dreaded but also hoping.

Waiting for the day to end when I had to go home.

Waiting to be found out what a disgusting thing I was but holding on to hope that I could make that part of me go away or push it down so it couldn’t be seen.

When I left, I think I waited for him to be or do something different. I had an idea that he would see what he had done and created and want to take it back. Clearly that has not happened.

It seems as if I’ve waited passively to be something  different for so many years, and yet here I am, the same core person I was when I left. It can’t be changed.

What am I waiting for now? So many things. Anything?