Am I in love? ― yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.
This is the first night in months that I’ve been on call at the hospital and I feel calm and ready. If there’s one thing a difficult year will do for you, it’s show you that, short of those bookends, anything in between is nothing you can’t manage.
Always something there to remind me.