I'm so bored. What are we waiting for? You tell me it's coming. I don't believe you. You tell me again that it's coming, you insist. It's been decades, my friend. It's not coming. You can take my word for it. "That's not enough," you say. If it comes when we're gone, you can take my life for it. You don't want to believe me, but you have a feeling it's true. It is.
We sit down and wait. "Just for a little while more. I'm tired. I can't wait much longer," I say. You don't want to give up but it's becoming more and more apparent who's right between the two of us. Of course, all it would take to prove me wrong is a fell swoop. Then again, that fell swoop has been a long time coming.
"One day, when you've admitted how right I am, I'll remind you of this day, when you forced me to sit here, waiting for something so vague and uncertain." You laugh and it was meant to be a joke but only partially. We're both tired. I know you are and I've made it completely clear that I am. Yet, we wait. It's a completely rational wait, but it doesn't stop me from feeling stupid just waiting. You're starting to feel stupid too but you try to be optimistic. On some days, you wonder if it's time to get up and go but then you stop yourself. You don't know why you do that but I do. You're starting to wonder if there even is such a thing. You've seen it and I have too but we don't know what we've seen; not really, anyway.
"I'll sit for now but I'm not going to for very long. I'm just sayin."
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