(hey all, ummm....here I go being vulnerable with myself. This is a bit of something that I wrote, it caught my mind late one night and I have played around with it. I like it a bit, although it is not as refined as I would have hoped. It is more or less, fictional, but perhaps a bit allegorical as you can consider my waiting for the 'next step' of life, being college here in a few weeks. So enjoy! Let me know what you think.Please keep your more harsh criticisms to yourself, as I am still learning.)



the waiting room!

The sticky feel of vinyl seats sticks lightly against my skin. The pungent smell of sterile wafts through the door. The worn edges of the over-read 'health' magazine floats lightly in my hand and even lighter in my mind. The muted sounds of the bedraggled mom with the screaming kid barely shakes my stare. The 'clink' from the beads of the toys on the waiting room floor beg my attention no more.

Then the door, the door to the back, the door to the 'promised land' swings open just long enough for a women in white to step out, and as I look at this out-of-focus figure, the words that leave her lips and cross the doors’ threshold barely cross the threshold of my mind. "I dont know those words...they must not be mine, that name must not be mine." Disappointment crowds my head.

I find myself waiting, and for what? I do not know. I have been waiting is all, all I know. I have been waiting for quite some time now, but long enough to have forgotten when I started, when I started waiting that is. Now, at this time, I don’t even know what I have been waiting for, but there is a sense of anticipation. Every time the door opens I feel, "OH, this could be me, please, let it be me!" With each passing click of the door shutting again, with me still waiting, my mind seems to say "Any time now, next time its you. You haven’t been forgotten."

I have filled out all my forms, finished all my paperwork. I have dotted my “I’s” and put the line through the “x.” But still I wait. My insurance forms are completed, but with no real assurance of anything.

The man in the corner, the one with the cane, tells me that it could be a long wait. But his eagerness also pacifies my fear. “Someday, someday soon” I say, “maybe the next one will be for me.” The picture of resilience, the picture of wisdom this man strengthened my resolve to keep waiting. This man, gives me hope. So here it is that I wait, here in this room, this ‘waiting room.’





peace,

matt

“People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”