End of March

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Waiting waiting waiting. I am so terrible at it. It gnaws at my insides, grows in my chest and becomes this monster that I have to extract. Between my clenched teeth, between raged breaths, in the middle of the night, so that it does not contaminate and eats at the throats of people and things around me. It poisons and scratches and burns.
I admire people and things that know how to wait. This quietness inside where there is only fury in me. It is often seen as a weakness, or passivity, to just wait. But it can be the most admirable thing of all.

I imagine that's what Sleeping Beauty did. Wait. Not sleep really, just a metaphor for a lifetime of waiting. And how strong would one have to be? To wait and wait, alone in a castle full of ghosts, unable to leave. To go about each day, with only oneself for company, and maybe words and maybe music, but no one to speak to and no one to laugh with. Just the deep knowledge that one day things would change, the eternal patience and faith. How strong would one have to be to not lose one's mind?
She would wait and wait. Maybe scream once in a while, through her burning throat, making sure no monster lived there to swallow her whole. And then just the soft settling of her bones, and her blodd, to remember and dream and hope.
And on that day, when the prince come, she would kiss him, because he's beautiful and he has come just for her, but really what she really wants is the world. Isn't that why she waited so long? She would smile and say her thank you and leave him behind, because now that she had learned how to wait, she would have to learn how to move.
And really how could one learn how to move properly, if one didnt't know how to wait for the right moment to do so?

I admire them all, those precious few who can stay still long enough for the right moment. To know when life is ready for them. And when they are ready for it.