A Poem: Waiting

The act of “waiting”
Freaks me out.
Waiting for any part
Of the future to arrive.

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i tink

terefore i am

tere is no end

Are you working on it though?

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Nothing I ever waited for was like what I imagined it would be, for better or worse. The future can only exist in imagination. The problem is that waiting becomes a habit and you end up missing the only thing that is actually real, which is this moment here and now.

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I try to be busy as waiting for anything can be a torture.

It reminds me of bedbound days

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