Last night the playground had been flooded. The once joyous park now appeared as a cesspool of floating woodchips. I didn’t even check the sky before strapping Nehemiah into his harness and in a routine manner, exiting the front door. The skies were clear. I hadn’t been thinking about your response. On the contrary. I had been sure of myself, forgetful of the purpose of our separation and dead set on proving I was right. When I passed the park, a boy was looking at his mom for solutions to where they would go for him to play. I recall thinking, ‘poor woman.’ I remember that it had been exactly one month since we’d both hung up the phone hopeful and apprehensive, heading off to begin our new lives without one another. I seem to always project my victim mentality onto others. I’ve circled a few times, and that woman is still searching for an adventure suitable for her son.

My plan was to win your heart with an overly thought out text. I unveiled a five-year plan for the both of us and detailed what your expected duties would be. So romantic. I went as far as drafting the text, but something unsettled me. Instead, it was the pang of calloused honesty, I was supposed to be living my “new life” void of rushing your intuition, or controlling your every decision by reaching out in meaningless grand gestured ways. So this morning I purposely left my phone upstairs, on the kitchen counter, beside a withering bed of roses from the shower we’d attended last week, my sister and I. It was the perfect spot because we had been avoiding the eventual discarding of such a delicate centerpiece, just like I’d been avoiding the reality of your possible rejection of me. In truth, those efforts lasted all of ten minutes before I would pounce on any attention, hoping it’d be yours because the moment my phone lit up with your name, I would love you all over again. I believe we have a chance. But those flowers will be dead by next week.
I have never been out of control, and I have never really been in control of anything. And so I’m resting on something new, change. I’m continuing to wait, to trust in your timing, in your lead.

I want to go wherever you go. I want to suffer a million rebirths with you. I just pray deep in the pit of your stomach; it tells you to run towards me. You have been the experience of my lifetime, I was just too shallow to see what was right in front of me. I ended up back where I started, by the shredded lake. The boy had braved the water with a gigantic leap. He’d decided that it was enough for him that it hadn’t been as big of an inconvenience as he’d first perceived. I’d expected he’d found out that adventure is worth the conflict of it all. The travailing, the re-routing, and the anticipating because our hearts are always set out for what makes us feel at home, even if at first, it seems unfamiliar.

Published by Miss Parisia B.

Writer, Storyteller, Lover

One thought on “Anticipating

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