“Soon” is never soon, is it? It’s false consolation to soothe the long wait before me. It’s never days, weeks, or months. With you, it’s years that chip away confidence and faith and hope only to grow more confidence faith and hope. It’s never seconds or minutes. It’s an arduous wait, a vast open field that breeds wild, noxious flowers: stress, doubt, depression, anxiety, panic attacks.
With
you, “soon” is never right now. You take the hopeful and expectant parts of me
and toss us all into the furnace. My screams of agony don’t quite reach you. My
pleadings for relief convulse and shatter at your feet. I scream myself hoarse.
But all you can offer me is: “Soon.”
