just you wait

you say you can't wait. you say that the awareness of what is to come fills you up with such anticipation that it feels that it won't fit inside you and that the comparison between what will be then and what is now is too big, too much, too everything except gone fast enough.

you say that what is to come looms in the horizon like a huge crescent moon, one that turns into full so slowly that it drives you mad. the agitation caused by your impatience prickles under your skin and makes your head ache; and all you wish for is that the day would come faster, that the day would be here tomorrow; because you honestly can't wait.

and every night you pray, from the bottom of your worn-out heart: let me have this, let it come; please please please don't take this from me like you have taken everything else. let me have this and i will never ask for anything more. you don't know who or what you are praying to, and in the end it really doesn't matter; maybe you are praying to yourself.

and at the same time you know that the reason why you want it so bad is because it is not here yet; that it exists only in the unfathomable future, in a one time hasn't touched or reality ruined. you can't wait and at the same time all you want to do is wait, wait for the rest of your life so that what is to come will always be there, so that you will always have a future and a reason to pray. 

you can't wait because what is to come is the only thing that's left for you; it is the last straw without which you will drown.

you say you can't wait; but of course you will.