elias

being forced to wait

you are waiting for something that never seems like it’ll come

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and

a decade of waiting and i’m not anywhere near where i want to be

i feel like i’m just starting

and waiting

and feeling behind all of your peers

and waiting

like you’re a teenage boy instead of a man at nearly twenty-one

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and

feeling terrified at every turn, like the rug will be ripped out from underneath you any moment now

and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

and

and I have spent my whole life

feeling like a nomad.

Not because I packed boxes or crossed borders

growing up, we stayed within the same five mile radius,

walking the exact same school hallways.

No, I am a nomad of people.

It started at six years old,

asking a girl in my class to be my friend

only to watch her turn her back.

In middle school, I tethered myself to older kids,

my sister’s friends in extracurriculars,

but seasons end and seniors graduate,

leaving me stranded on the sidelines.

By high school, I was just a temporary fixture,

a brief tenant in various friend groups

before drifting away after a handful of months.

Now, adulthood follows the same short lease.

I have one or two close friends at a time.

We burn too hot, too fast,

and fizzle out near the six month mark.

We simply run out of things to say,

and occasional life updates feel too thin to bridge the gap.

Or we stumble upon some fatal incompatibility,

and the fire goes out.

Even now, sitting with the same sister’s adult friends,

I am an outsider looking in.

I feel like I am only there

because I happen to occupy this specific space and time.

I keep trying.

And trying and trying and trying.

I reach out, looking for a place to land,

but it seems everyone’s capacity is drained.

People barely bother to maintain correspondence,

let alone build something real.

It feels like everyone is in on a joke

That I am not apart of

But I am tired of aimlessly wandering

and I don’t want to hitchhike anymore.

So, I keep hoping

and hoping and hoping and hoping