Waiting In Time

When I was little, there was this big tree in front of our house. It had this perfect spot at the base for me to sit on. I would sit there looking towards the main street that cars would turn to go towards my house. Every time my parents would have another of their toxic fights, I’d sit at the tree and look down the street wondering if my dad would be turning that corner, and maybe things would finally be okay. I’d get tired of sitting after a while, so I’d go around the tree in endless circles. It felt like I spent hours out there.

So much of my life I’ve felt disconnected, like I was born in the wrong place or the wrong time.

For years and years I feel like I’ve been waiting. Just waiting and I’m not sure for what.

I feel like there’s something that’s supposed to happen. A person I’m supposed to meet. An event that should be taking place. A truth to be revealed. Somewhere I should be.

I don’t know what it could be, but I’m still waiting for it. Life is just what’s happening in between.