‘For a while’ is a phrase whose length can’t be measured. At least by the person who’s waiting.
– Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
He tells me he won’t be long. He tells me to wait a while.
So I wait.
At first, it’s easy. Then a tingling of anticipation starts to build as I imagine everything we could do when he gets back. The potential is exhilarating, and before I know it, my body is taut and expectant.
As I continue to eagerly wait, my need for him grows with each passing second. Every sound sets my heart racing and I turn towards it, hoping that my wait is now over. I start to struggle to be patient.
In the end, ‘a while’ is always too long…
