Waiting, waiting, waiting

I’m tired of waiting on men.

That’s all it seems I’ve done for the past 18 years – and have had no luck with it. Men, traditionally, have complained about waiting on women – to do their hair, to get dressed, to cook dinner, to get the kids ready. But all these instances are trivial matters of time. What’s a few minutes here and there compared to a lifetime of waiting on the big stuff? Fixing my hair versus deciding whether or not I’m worth the effort to talk to – there is no comparison.

Women have to wait on men to be asked out, to be asked to be married, to give a reason as to why they disappeared for a day, to just talk to, to commit to and to be loved. It’s ridiculous. Life was created on earth faster than men move when it comes to important emotional issues.

Why is it so hard to just come out and say something? It’s so much easier to just say it then it is for me to sit and let my insanely creative mind decide your reasons before you can even think of something to say. I don’t dare ask why you were late, because I don’t want to hear the answer. I’ve heard the answer before and the first time it involved me learning I wasn’t good enough for someone who I should have never even looked at in the first place.

Please stop asking me to wait; to stop being patient. You break my heart each time you do. Just let me know, because it’s not known. I can’t read minds, and if I try my overactive mind will always go to the negative because that’s the only experience I’ve ever had and can relate to. I can guarantee I’m just waiting for you to tell me that you’re leaving; or worse, just expect you to not come back each time you disappear. It’s not a matter of trusting you. I do. More than I should because I’m the one who’s going to really lose my heart this time.

And this time, since it’s real, I don’t think I’ll survive – or that I would want to.