Patience, My Love

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The humidity weighed on me like a cloak meant not to protect, but to smother me. I felt my body perspire and an uncomfortable droplet of sweat start in my cleavage. I was not created to thrive in this weather. I am a delicate beast of the winter, fall, and night. I shy away from sun with baseball caps and umbrellas. The sun should stay away from me unless the star comes forth as a comfort not a nuisance.

Tapping my foot to a beat that continuously evades my grasp, I wait for her. She’s always late. Actually, we both have a tendency to show up later than planned, but she — she shows up egregiously late. Apologies fly from her mouth like an eagle at at American pride parade and I, being the forgiving person that I am, graciously wave off her apologies and grab her hand in mine as a silent way to say “My love, it’s okay.”

But today, her lateness felt peculiar. An hour has passed and my vision has yet to be filled by the beautiful girl I call my girlfriend. And finally, a memory invaded my senses. The memory replayed before my eyes, pounded my ears, and coated my tongue with the bitterest of tastes.

I turned around on my heel and left. My mind sometimes forgets that death makes someone permanently late.

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