6

Waiting has more faces than I ever gave it credit for:
waiting for a message,
waiting for peace,
waiting for a voice that won't hurt.
I waited until I no longer felt the urge to flee
either into the noise or into the void.
I waited until I knew how to be at home
even within my own body.
And then you came—
and the waiting turned into something ordinary:
a mug that doesn't stay cold,
a key that fits the lock,
into a silence that is not a punishment.
And I understood
that you can wait twenty years
and still not arrive too late.