I watch the yeast rise to the top, creating a froth. I linger in the spectacle. Waiting for the head to be a thick foam to coat my upper lip. I’m patient. I know it will end. I know that there will be a resolution. The wait is over and I take a glorious sip. It’s bitter, but sweet. Thick bubbles that roll over my tongue and allow the time that passed some refuge from my mind. It’s the wait. The knowing that it is unknown. That is what kills me. I forget what it’s like to be anxious until I’m waiting for someone to notice me. My worth. My time. I give it so freely and openly- that it becomes a sword and me without a shield. I know my boundaries. And yet… I sit here watching the froth. Watching the time pass. Trying to indulge in anything else other than fantasize about the possibilities of things that may never come to fruition. To things that will linger, long left in the air to fade into dust. The slight ping to my heart when I realize how desperate I truly am for love. For comfort. For someone to say, “you’re mine.” The times I allow myself to be trapped by it. Even now. Two weeks ago, I didn’t think hope existed and then I felt it a week ago. Now? I just don’t know. I really don’t know.
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