There are two types of waiting. There's the waiting you do for something you know is coming, sooner or later - like waiting for the train, or your friend to meet you for drinks. And then there's the waiting for something you're not sure will ever arrive. You don't even know what it is exactly, in what shape or size it might come, or if it's black or white. But you're hoping for it. You're imagining it and living for it. It's every dream, every fantasy you ever have. It's every breath you take and you can see it as the stars cover the sky, and as the sun sinks in the ocean, and as twilight illuminates your way home. That's the kind of waiting that's tearing this boy apart. It's the kind that has no remedy, no clarity. The kind of waiting that makes holes in your heart, that shreds your soul and leaves open wounds. That's the kind of waiting this boy has to live with, the kind that will either make him into what he always wanted to be, or doom him beyond comprehension. The kind of waiting only fools wish for, and as it turns out, this boy has always been a fool.
It's happening again. I'm failing. Just enough for me to spiral out of control, yet not enough to set me on another path. Sometimes I think I'm in love with the irony and insanity of my life, the way it keeps me on my toes and always, without pause, gives me exactly what I want, in the most obscure of ways. Careful what you wish for has never held deeper meaning and as I'm losing hold of the stability I've grown accustomed to, I realise that this is what it means to relentlessly chase your dreams, and that I first need to fail and fail again, before I can truly appreciate when I'll finally succeed. But what if it never happens? What if I trapped myself in an endless cycle of failure, and each step I march further, takes a greater toll? I guess the true test has finally arrived. It's finally time for do, or die.
