I hate waiting.
Waiting for a reply, waiting for a first move to be made, waiting for you to talk to me because I don’t want to be the one to break the silence every time. What I hate even more is how vulnerable I feel when I wait for you, knowing that I’m waiting for the impossible, but there’s nothing else I can do. The more I try to keep myself occupied, the more I catch myself wondering if you’re waiting on me too.
