“The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was almost always a man and a woman, staring straight ahead, not talking. It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, […]
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Singing In The Rain

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“The street to my left was backed up with traffic and I watched the people waiting patiently in the cars. There was almost always a man and a woman, staring straight ahead, not talking. It was, finally, for everyone, a matter of waiting. You waited and you waited for the hospital, the doctor, the plumber, the madhouse, the jail, papa death himself. First the signal red, then the signal was green. The citizens of the world ate food and watched t.v. and worried about their jobs or lack of the same, while they waited.”
― Charles Bukowski, Women

7:50. Message sent. Now, all you had to do was wait.

You waited and you waited, and not a single beep on the phone was ever heard.

8:30. Legs crossed, then pulled up in the car, roaming down the streets, pen and notebook in hand, imagining the worst possible scenarios, the sound of thunder drumming in my ears, the blood pulsating fervently in my veins, rushing to my head, nails scraping through the door handle, muffled voices and cries, shooting daggers to my best friend with my stares, patience seems to be a real virtue after all, a grace I didn’t have, nor intended to practice anytime soon. I wanted my answer, and I wanted it now.

Going in our last lap before heading home, worry was starting to eat me alive, I ran out of excuses, a total of forty, most of them nearly destroyed me anyway, our imagination seems to be able to run as wild into the darkest and grimmest of forests as anyone ever could. Pulling to a stop at the neighborhood, it was just starting to rain, I got out, walked under the drizzle, for the first time, it warmed my aching heart, cooled down my burning skin.

9:30. I got into my apartment, was dragging my feet into my room, when I froze in place, a text, as delightful as the falling rain after the long drought. my lips twitched and curved into a smile. A fleeting moment with which I’m fully satisfied. My epitome of happiness.

post scriptum: …أتعلمُ عيناك أني انتظرت طويلا كما انتظرَ الصيفَ طائرْ ونمتُ… كنوم المهاجرْ

 

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