Fic: I Will Wait [PG]
You’re a doctor. I know. You’ve mentioned that little fact more times than I can hope to remember.
But doctors can’t always tell when it’s something about themselves that’s hurting.
That may be the reason I tend to stick around you all the time.
You’re good at what you do; heal the ills that you come across. You’ve patched me up plenty of times, no doubt. Lord knows I’ve come to you pretty busted up, but you should see the other guy. Really.
You grumble and gripe every time I come looking for you when I need mended.
Yet you never turn me away.
Your dorm room is cold. It isn’t the physical temperature; it’s the fact that there are very few personal effects and that everything has its exact, proper place. I wonder if you even sleep here.
So I drag you out of your hermit hole and to a bar most locals tend to frequent. You’ll mutter something under your breath every time, but follow along nonetheless. Maybe you’re humoring me. At the same time, I think you like to go out. Not that you’d admit it.
Drinking won’t make the sorrows go away; And you can certainly drink your fill.
Sometimes you’re quiet, other times you have a lot on your mind. I’m happy to listen to those problems. You’ve seen a lot of pain recently.
I know that I have. But we’re not here about me.
You never say anything when I take off with the occasional pretty girl. But sometimes you don’t have to. Sometimes a look says everything when you choose to say nothing.
Still, I know you’d take care of me if something were to go wrong. You always do.
Even if sometimes you tend to take out that pent up aggravation out on my treatment.
I don’t mind. I probably deserved it anyway.
That’s what I like about you the most, I think. You keep me in line when everyone else would rather see me screw it up.
Maybe you’ve noticed it too.
I know that you care. You don’t so much need to say it.
But I want to hear it.
I want to hear you say that.
I want you to get over your broken heart.
I will wait. Patiently. For you.
But doctors can’t always tell when it’s something about themselves that’s hurting.
That may be the reason I tend to stick around you all the time.
You’re good at what you do; heal the ills that you come across. You’ve patched me up plenty of times, no doubt. Lord knows I’ve come to you pretty busted up, but you should see the other guy. Really.
You grumble and gripe every time I come looking for you when I need mended.
Yet you never turn me away.
Your dorm room is cold. It isn’t the physical temperature; it’s the fact that there are very few personal effects and that everything has its exact, proper place. I wonder if you even sleep here.
So I drag you out of your hermit hole and to a bar most locals tend to frequent. You’ll mutter something under your breath every time, but follow along nonetheless. Maybe you’re humoring me. At the same time, I think you like to go out. Not that you’d admit it.
Drinking won’t make the sorrows go away; And you can certainly drink your fill.
Sometimes you’re quiet, other times you have a lot on your mind. I’m happy to listen to those problems. You’ve seen a lot of pain recently.
I know that I have. But we’re not here about me.
You never say anything when I take off with the occasional pretty girl. But sometimes you don’t have to. Sometimes a look says everything when you choose to say nothing.
Still, I know you’d take care of me if something were to go wrong. You always do.
Even if sometimes you tend to take out that pent up aggravation out on my treatment.
I don’t mind. I probably deserved it anyway.
That’s what I like about you the most, I think. You keep me in line when everyone else would rather see me screw it up.
Maybe you’ve noticed it too.
I know that you care. You don’t so much need to say it.
But I want to hear it.
I want to hear you say that.
I want you to get over your broken heart.
I will wait. Patiently. For you.