Waiting

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting to return to China. Waiting to go out in public again. Waiting for the baby to come. Waiting for the shooter to give himself up. Waiting to feel like myself again. Waiting to fall asleep, just in case the baby wakes up again. Waiting while she puts her shoes on all by herself. Waiting to find my purpose. Waiting for a mammogram because what even is that weird lump?

God, I am so tired of waiting.

And I’m scared.

What I wait for either will happen or it won’t.

And I need to trust that whatever happens next, is part of the plan.

The heaviness in my chest, in the flesh above my heart, reminds me of my transience.

And now I have a paper to write.

See you later.

Life doesn’t wait.