wait for what?

Dear Mr. Nothing,

I sit here in the quiet space between who I am and who I am trying to become, holding onto a promise made in the dark. The image I stare at reminds me so deeply of this internal landscape—a mirrored, structured reality of waiting. "I will wait for you like I always do," it echoes, though the "you" feels less like a person and more like an absence. Like you.

There is a striking symmetry in this patience. It is an active, muscular sort of endurance, a strength forged out of holding onto empty air. The folded arms, the clasped hands, the repetition of a form looking inward—it all speaks to the ways we loop back into our own thoughts when we are waiting for something that never arrives. You are the stillness in the room, the unanswered text, the expectations that lead nowhere. Yet, there is a strange comfort in this consistency. You are always there, or rather, always not there, exactly as expected.

I am learning to navigate this geometry of longing. Even in the absence, there is a powerful architecture of resilience. I will continue to wait, to stand strong within my own borders, mirroring the patience required to survive the quiet.

Sincerely,
The One Who Waits