The Waiting Game

Posted on October 29, 2016

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You’re my perfect guy and i’m your perfect girl.

At least, that’s what i’m sure you’d be thinking after seeing the dash of dried soy sauce on my chin and nose like I noticed just now in the mirror.

Look at me – the audacity! It was just one kiss, and now we are moving on. It lasted just one week, romance in the air like a heatwave. Fleeting but boy oh boy. It was sweet.

Its not totally over yet though.

It’s not entirely dead just yet.

It is dormant. Simmering in the mind, taking a rest, a much needed rest to conserve energy before it blossoms and explodes.

I’m wearing hope. It’s my perfume. Not desperation – nor mis-belief. If we do pick this back up, then anticipation will fuel (and delight) this much over-analysed romance.

But it’s cruel, don’t you think? To keep a girl hanging. To not contact in semi-regular bouts. But a delicious kind of a cruel. A mind-fucking tantalising cruel that reminds you that nothing is certain. Nothing is guaranteed. And I like it.

Because I know, deep down, that no matter what, i’m going to be okay. Love does not define me and love is no longer my drug.

So I shall continue to bathe in the waiting game. I shall sit. And wait.

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