By Harshitha Anaparthi
I woke before the alarm,
but didn’t get out of bed.
I waited — patiently —
for the alarm to do its job.
I went to brush my teeth,
but the toothpaste was finished.
Tried to squeeze the life out of it,
then waited
until someone gave me theirs.
I wanted to bathe —
I was late —
but the bathroom was puffing out steam.
So I waited,
watching my face blur
in the mirror's fog.
I dressed.
Headed out.
Found my car boxed in by strangers.
Waited again,
listening to dogs
mark their territory
with their voices —
for someone else to move.
I skipped breakfast,
sat calmly in traffic,
watching red signals
brighter than my half-asleep eyes.
At the office,
the lift took its time.
Conversations passed —
replies didn’t.
I asked questions —
but felt like dancing in circles.
Made a joke, heard a laugh —
but waited to be sensed
in the silence that followed.
I got hurt,
and waited for the pain to go —
to believe I still knew
how to heal.
I imagined a future,
then waited for it to arrive.
I started work —
and waited for it to end.
I respected people,
and waited for that to return.
It didn’t.
I waited
like an untouched guitar, silent for years,
longing for someone to strum it — just once.
Like an undusted letter,
hoping to be sent to the right hands —
Like an idea
waiting in the dark
to be discovered.
Like sultry, breathless weather
longing for rain
to reveal its silence
and freedom — in vain.
But once — I didn’t wait.
I left without permission,
Let the slammed door echo like an accusation.
Let my silence scream —
not peace,
but chaos.
It felt like a prisoner
freed from cuffs,
without ever
committing a crime.
Some things, perhaps,
must be waited for —
but many should not.
And now I ask —
is waiting, patiently,
in every situation...
a virtue,
or just a quiet way
to be forgotten
without a fight?