break.

[kristensue]

 him. with a ring in his pocket.
me. with my heart in my hands.

open fists and i ask him to set the scales and weigh and wait.
he gasps when he sees the shape of my pathetic pacemaker.
wounded, gaping, scarred.

and we go about, scraping together tears and breaths and pregnant pauses and 
wait
wait

for the sound of his apology, the crinkle of some flowers being vased outside my door. 
for the buzz of the phone to remind me i'm more than a memory.
for the knight i knew to come blazing in with his sword high.

afraid, but not weak. i wait for him to fight.
i wait for his hesitations to evaporate, leaving his burly capacities unveiled.

more than anything, i fear he won't return. even that would be worse
than a no,
than a wait-for-someone-better,
than an i'm-going-back-for-her.

cinderella, her shoes a-strapped and her lashes curled,
waiting for her carriage ride. i join the ladies-in-waiting
the ladies who never stop waiting.

and he says, "beyonce"
and I say, "what?"
and he says, "boy, was i talking you for granted..."

and my impatient compulsion screams a silent agreement. 
he says, "i see you."
and i think, "than why do you hesitate?"

and does he know that every second he takes to figure us out, brings us further and further apart?
and does he know how to woo?

my gut is to teach him, but the lessons are over. this is the test.