Hastily Penned in Impatience

Waiting.
Time drips like molasses;
Achingly, infuriatingly slow.
Nothing is louder than a clock
(Tick, tock, tick, tock)
When you're waiting.

It's almost painful, waiting.
Stuck in limbo
With only your anxieties for company
Wondering...
When?
(Don't forget, patience is a virtue.)

And now the edge of your seat
Is the only place you're comfortable.
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting.
Who can know what tomorrow will bring?

The Many Faces of Love

Love is such a tricky subject. Everyone sees it differently.
Psychology says if a crush lasts more than three months, you're in love.
Your mother says you can't really be in love unless it's reciprocated,
But then why do all those novels and films talk so much about unrequited love?

Some say you fall into love, like a character might fall through a manhole in a slapstick comedy.
Others insist that you chose to be in love, and call those who love all the wrong people masochists.
There are others still that claim that love is nothing more than a chemical reaction brought on by the right combination of hormones.

And on and on and on it goes.

In many circles, it's normal to wait until later in life to find your love.
Elsewhere, you're considered something of a freak if you aren't in a serious relationship by the time you exit your teens.
Fathers insist you stay single through your thirties, while grandmothers send you letters asking why you aren't engaged yet.

Love is a verb.
Love is a battlefield.
Love is a drug.
Love is blind.
Love is patient, love is kind.
God is love.

So maybe, love is beyond comprehension. And I suppose for now, I'll have to be satisfied with that.