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Waiting

I sit and wait. I know that she will come. Late, as always, but she will come. As always. And even with this cer­tainty, the wait­ing always makes me nervous. Will this be the time, the first and last, that my wait is unre­quited, my hope unful­filled? I sit and wait. As always.

Related posts:

  1. Sit­ting, Wait­ing, Writing

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