Waiting Room Blues

Now, this is a feeling I’m used to.
Also, the one I hate the most.
Sitting. Impatient. Contemplating.
Never certain of what the future holds.

Time is such a passing thing.
Similar to our forgotten fling.
Even though, that night in my father’s bed
Means more to you and occurs much less often in my head.

I forgot you, it’s true.
Perhaps, this kind of love isn’t one you’re used to.

It’s not what you wanted.
Wait for it.

And I’m still waiting.
Waiting to want you less.
You told me something else.
That suggested … we had hope.

Then I waited. I waited for you to crush it.
I waited for you to say,

“Fuck it.”

Because I knew the truth
I forgot her, I could forget you.

Then you came back.
And I’m pretty sure I had a heart attack.
Maybe not but it skipped a few beats.
Why do I cling to you … when you’ll never cling to me?

I’m waiting for it to end.
Maybe you are too.

Waiting Room Blues.